Breakneck
by methylethyl
Summary: Justin watches the last vestiges of support crumble beneath his feet, sending him into freefall. He can only close his eyes and pray he'll land somewhere soft.
1. Push

**Breakneck **

**Chapter 1: Push**

I couldn't draw. I'd asked the nurse for a pen and I'd grabbed a barebacked pink flyer off of the table (FLU SHOTS AT WALGREENS EVERY SATURDAY, ONLY $10), and there were so many people filing in and out of the waiting room, so many faces and twitches and emotions—but I couldn't draw. It was as though someone had pressed the fast-forward button, speeding the faces into a mindless blur. There were emotions sloshing around inside of me, somewhere, below layers of frozen shock and disbelief. I had to draw. Drawing would settle them, let them leak slowly so that I could deal with them—but I couldn't tap into it at all. I couldn't feel anything but icy shock.

I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and let the tip of the pen make contact with the paper. I pictured the man who had been sitting across from me for the last hour: skin like black liquorice, head shrunken, eyes yellowed and spilling down his face. He twitched with a nervous energy, as though there was a perpetual current of electricity running through him.

I opened my eyes and moved the pen—did not think—drew the curve of his cheek, the point of his chin, the rounding of his forehead—did not think—drew the line of his nose, the shells of his eyes, the wisp of his hair, which was growing, curling, lengthening right down to his shoulders and suddenly—

Round cheeks.

Slightly parted lips.

Clear, white skin.

Dead eyes.

I crumpled up the piece of paper as tears suddenly shot into my eyes, and as I fought to breathe I clenched my fists. Deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

Sara Anderson was dead.

"_Taylor and Anderson. You know, Justin, between the two of us, we've interchangeable with 0.622% of the population. That's, like, 150,000 people." _

"_Hey, at least you can get married and change your name." _

When Daphne had told me, I'd thought for a moment that maybe they'd gotten the wrong Sara Anderson. There were at least ten of them in Pittsburgh, last time we'd checked, and seven more Sara-with-an-H Andersons. Maybe it wasn't her. God, don't let it be her. Let it be a mistake, a misunderstanding, a joke—

But it had been my Sara Anderson. My Sara Anderson was dead.

We didn't know it, right away. She'd slipped, cracked her skull, and they thought that maybe if they held the skull together and gave her saline, electric pulses and CPR, she'd live. When Daphne and I had arrived, Cal had still been clinging to the hope that his daughter—our Sara Anderson—would be okay. He told me that she was going to be okay, and I felt a surge of hope and relief so powerful I went weak-kneed for a moment. Sara was back beyond the curtains where we couldn't see her, and I didn't know what was happening, but Cal stood there so sure and so proud, grandson asleep in his arms, how could I doubt him?

It had only been two hours ago that the doctor had appeared, and I learned the truth. Cal had denied it up until the doctor let us see her body.

I said goodbye to my Sara Anderson.

Luke woke up when he was transferred from Cal's arms and into mine. I took his arm and helped him wave goodbye to Mommy, feeling nothing more than muted shock.

Cal had lost it, then. He fell to the ground, screaming and raging, and I took Luke back to the waiting room before he started crying, too. Babies are so aware of people's emotions. Daphne was still there in the waiting room, tearful but ready, and she helped me distract myself with Luke until Cal appeared.

"_Please," Cal has said hoarsely, his arms reaching for his grandson. "Please, let me hold him. I need to be with Sara." _

So Cal had Luke. Daphne had gone home, although not before extracting a promise from me that I would call my parents. And I was sitting here in the waiting room, drawing pictures of my dead Sara Anderson.

It was almost nine, and I knew that I should call my parents.

But the memory of my mother in the car—the fact that she _knew_, the way that her voice had shook—I couldn't face her. What if she'd told Dad? What if I wasn't allowed to come back home? What if they tried to put me in counseling, or send me away to one of those Jesus camps? What if they told Cal, and I wasn't allowed to see Luke anymore? What if—

"Justin?"

I started so badly, I dropped the pen I'd been clenching in my fist.

Brian stood before me, eyebrow raised.

For a moment, I thought that somehow, he'd felt my pain and come running to my side—he was going to take me back to his loft, let me stay with him and protect my from my parents and love me forever—and then I remembered that Ted was in the hospital.

Brian hadn't come here for me. He didn't love me.

But it had to mean something, that he had actually stopped and spoken to me instead of walking on by and going to Babylon. Right?

"H—hi," I said. My voice caught a little. Thank god I hadn't been crying. With my complexion, it takes ages to get rid of the puffy-eyed, tearstained look.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Brian asked, tone less harsh than his words. "You didn't come here for Ted, did you?"

I shook my head. "No. Just—just a—" My throat closed up and I blinked furiously. "Just a friend."

"Oh," Brian said. Now he looked awkward.

Brian didn't love me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to love me for these five minutes, just long enough for him to gather me into his arms and let me sob into his shoulder; I wanted it so badly it almost _hurt_. But I knew I couldn't have it, because Brian didn't love me.

But he did love to fuck me.

I abandoned the pen and paper and pushed myself out of the chair. "Help me find the bathroom?"

His other eyebrow shot up.

Lowering my voice, I added, "I want to give my ass a real reason to be sore, not just from sitting in these fucking chairs." And I bit my lip, grinning a little and looking up at him through the fringe of my hair.

It wasn't great, but it made something flash in Brian's eyes and I knew that I had him.

Excitement surged through my veins.

"Follow me," Brian muttered, and a split second later I was scrambling to keep up. He led me down the hallway, hands jammed in his pockets, saying nothing until he made an abrupt left and pushed open the door to the men's room. Then he shoved me into the first stall and growled at me to lock the door.

I was still feeling excitement, but it was now laced with desire, with _need. _I needed Brian. I needed him to fill me, trap me, push me over the edge, make me forget my name. Sara's name. Sara's face.

He shoved me against the metal wall, his mouth coming down over mine and claiming it. I kissed back furiously, pushing my tongue into his mouth and pulling at his hair, my entire body suddenly taut and hard. I wanted him to pull my hair and I pulled his harder, digging my fingers in and twisting and yanking, all the while drowning in his kiss. I wanted pain. I wanted sharp, needling pain, burning pain, stabbing, ripping, heart-stopping pain.

With a hiss, Brian drew back. His eyes were glittering with a combination of rage and lust that meant nothing good for me.

I shivered.

"Little shit," Brian hissed, spinning me around and grabbing my wrists, forcing them above my head. My face was mashed against the cold metal. "You think you're in control? You think you can _hurt me?_"

"N—no."

My pants were pulled down before I knew what was happening, and I gasped as Brian's teeth bit down on the back of my neck. He sucked and nipped and sucked and nipped, sending bursts of pleasure and pain down my spine, and I writhed in ecstasy. My cock was already hard and trapped between the freezing metal of the wall and my belly. It was like a sheet of ice, burning the sensitive flesh and sending shockwaves of sensation straight to my pelvis. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't breathe.

And then, with no warning, Brian's finger was in my ass and I suddenly found my voice.

"Aaargh!" I yelled, pressing the length of my body against the metal wall, trying to escape the burn of the intrusion. Tears pricked my eyes and I gasped for breath. My cock throbbed.

"No lube, princess," Brian whispered into my ear. The hand trapping my wrists shifted, adjusting the angle slightly. "Deal with it."

His finger twisted and I arched, gasping.

"Make it hurt," I panted against the metal wall. "I wanna hurt."

"Didn't know you were so kinky, Sunshine," Brian said into my ear, jamming another finger in.

I let out a ragged noise, something close to a sob, and the tears spilled over. Brian's fingers worked inside of me, stretching and tearing as they went, and I couldn't push myself any farther against the wall if I tried. My cock, still burning against the metal of the wall, was beginning to ache with more than just desire. I longed to reach down and pull it free, slide my hand around it and squeeze, pull, give it some relief, but my wrists were trapped. Desperate, I shoved myself against the wall with renewed vigor. There was nothing else I could do.

The sound of foil ripping hit my ears, and fear lurched in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready, I couldn't take him—

"Ready?" Brian asked.

"Yes," I whispered, tears pouring down my face.

And then he was there, pushing inside of me.

"Ah—ah—ah—"

I struggled not to cry out, but every inch he put in seemed to rip right through me. My body jerked in protest, and a sudden liquid warmth on my stomach told me that my cock was more than willing to take this agony. But it hurt. I was alive and being pulled apart with pain, and by the time Brian was all the way in, I was seeing black spots.

"Fuck me," I breathed, barely able to put any air into the words.

Brian drew out a little, tightening his grip on my wrists, and then he slammed back in.

I screamed.

He thrust again, but this time he changed his angle and there was an explosion of pleasure laced with pain. I gasped and arched, throwing my head back and pushing down, down, down, forcing him deeper and harder against me.

And then he was hitting that spot again and again, driving into it, and I moved with him desperately. I was lost in a haze of agony and pleasure. I could only see dancing black spots, could only hear his ragged breathing. It was only his hand around my wrists that was keeping me from sliding to the ground.

"Harder." It was the only word coming to mind, the only word that made sense. "Harder, harder, harder."

Brian buried his face in my hair. "Fucking slut. Listen to you beg, all hot and needy and tight—"

Then suddenly, his teeth clamped down on my hair and he _pulled._

Brian's name was lost in a rush of sounds that escaped my mouth. Sharp, needling pain drove into my skull, and then he thrust into me again and the explosion of pleasure, the fierce ache of my cock, the feeling of Brian's tongue running down my neck and onto my shoulder—my balls tightened, my ass clenched down on Brian's cock, the world went completely black, and I came. Hard.

A strangled yell and a pulsing sensation in my ass seconds later told me that Brian was coming, and I slumped against the wall as his cock pulsed one last time.

Brian slumped against me, releasing my wrists.

I became abruptly aware of how quiet the bathroom was, how loud the sound of my breathing was off of the white tiles. Tears were still running down my face. I couldn't bring myself to care.

Gentle, now, Brian slid out of me with one hand placed on my back. I heard him tie off the condom and then felt both of his hands on my shoulders. "That was hot," he murmured into my ear.

I drew in a ragged, shuddering breath. Euphoria was still making my head spin.

Brian paused, and then he grabbed my face and twisted it so that he could see.

I stared back.

His confusion morphed into horror as he took in my face. "Justin—"

"I'm okay," I interrupted. My voice shook. "It's not—I wanted it like that."

Brian's eyes flashed. "Don't you fucking lie to me—"

"I'm not lying," I said stubbornly, and I wasn't.

I felt free.

The ache in my shoulders, the stinging pain in my ass, the dull throb at the back of my head—they hurt in all the right ways. I needed to cry. The muted shock from before was gone, and the roar of grief that was beginning to form a chasm in my chest was a welcome replacement. I was feeling again. I was an artist. I needed to feel. If I couldn't feel, then I couldn't draw.

"I shouldn't have been so rough," Brian said at length, not looking me in the eye. He grabbed the condom and unlocked the stall door, letting himself out.

I pulled my pants up, ignoring the stabbing pains that shot up my spine as I bent over.

"I wanted it rough," I said stubbornly. I sniffled, grabbed a strip of toilet paper, and blew my nose. With the absence of overwhelming sensation, my tears were finally slowing.

Brian was washing his hands. "What the fuck ever."

"No," I insisted, grabbing his arm. "_Not_ what the fuck ever. I needed it. I needed you."

Brian shook me off.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror before following him out. I looked like a wreck, but I figured that it was a pretty appropriate state for me to be in. At least my eyes didn't look dead anymore. Like Sara Anderson.

"How's Ted?" I asked, as I caught up with him. Walking hurt like a bitch, but it got a little easier with every step.

"He's awake," Brian said shortly. "Shouldn't you be with your friend?"

The pain tore into my chest, and I couldn't breathe for a second. "I—I can't."

I thought about telling him that Sara Anderson was dead, but I knew that Brian wouldn't care. It would only make him push me away more, because dead friends were not attractive on horny bubble-butt twinks.

"I'm going to Babylon," Brian said, as we approached the waiting room where he'd found me. "You should—"

He stopped himself.

"What?" I asked.

"Pick up some cream for your ass. You remember what I have at the loft?"

I nodded.

"Use that. Twice a day. If you're not feeling better by tomorrow evening, you'll need to see a doctor to make sure there's no tearing."

I tried to lighten the mood. "You know, one of the most recent treatments for an anal fissure is to inject Botox into the patient's anus?"

Brian's eyes went to my ass, and I could almost see him speculating. "I don't think that's really necessary."

I grinned.

"See you around, Sunshine."

I watched him walk away, and the grin faded a little because Sara Anderson was still dead, and no amount of fucking would change that.

ooo

I found Cal in a chair just outside of the ICU. Luke was asleep in his arms again.

"Hey," I said softly.

Slowly, he raised his head. "Justin."

"I—"

I stopped, not sure what to say.

"She's dead," Cal said, his voice hollow. "My Sara is dead. I'm alone."

"You've got Luke," I said. I felt emotion rising up inside of me, no longer screened by shock. Brian had fucked the shock right out of me. "And you've got me."

Cal slowly shook his head, eyes going to the wall across from him.

"Mr. Anderson—"

He stood up. "I need to leave."

My eyes immediately went to Luke, and I felt a flash of despair. "You can't—"

"Take him," Cal said, thrusting Luke at me.

Luke's eyes cracked open and he began to twist in midair, and I quickly took him before his whine could build into a full-blown sob. Luke hated being dangled. His whine petered out as I got a hand under his butt, the other one on his back, and he was asleep against my chest almost instantly.

I looked up, and Cal was depositing the diaper bag at my feet. "He's your son. He can't be mine. Sara was all I had."

And I watched, feeling the shock descend over me again, as Cal walked away from his only grandson without looking back.

ooo

I had to call my parents. It was past ten, and my mother was probably freaking the fuck out.

ooo

We didn't have a car seat in my dad's car, so I held Luke on the way home. He was still asleep—he'd been sleeping through the night for almost five months, now. Daphne and I had fed him in the waiting room around seven, so that should have been enough to hold him through the night. I hoped it was. Exhaustion was starting to settle in, over the pain in my ass and shoulders (I made a note to pick up cream tomorrow morning, because there was no way I was getting it tonight), and I wanted to sleep. And dream of Brian.

"You realize that Luke is going back to Cal, right, Justin?" Dad said, from up front.

"Craig," my mother admonished softly.

I said nothing.

"Luke doesn't have to sleep in my room, right?" Molly asked. "'Cause he's not allowed in there. It's for girls only."

She was cranky because it was past her bedtime. And it was funny, because before Luke, I wouldn't have known that.

"Use your indoor voice, Molly," Mom said gently, turning around in her seat. "Luke's sleeping."

"He's sleeping with me, anyway," I said. For some reason, the thought of him in another room—

I knew that I wasn't going to raise him. But I was his father, and Sara was dead, and Brian didn't love me, and Cal had walked away. I needed Luke with me tonight.

"I think we still have the crib up in the attic," Mom said quietly. "I'll bring it down tonight."

"He's not staying, Jennifer," Dad cut in sharply. "He's going back to Cal Anderson in the morning."

"Luke's only eight months old, Craig," Mom returned, her voice cool. "He needs a crib to sleep in."

Dad said nothing. We turned onto our street.

When we pulled into the drive, Dad was the first one out. He slammed the door of the car shut and stormed off to the house.

"Is Daddy mad?" Molly asked.

"He's just upset, sweetheart," Mom said, unbuckling her seat belt. "Go get your pajamas, and don't forget to—"

"Brush my teeth," Molly interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm not a baby like Luke. I'm almost _nine_."

I slipped the diaper bag over my shoulder and, careful not to jostle Luke too much, slid out of the car. Molly ran ahead into the house, yelling that the last one in was a rotten egg. She'd always had this amazing ability to not recognize when tensions were running high. Probably, she couldn't even comprehend the idea of death, or maybe she just didn't miss Sara. She never really knew her. God knew she'd never been allowed over the house.

"Justin?"

Mom's voice broke my thoughts, and I gave her a faint smile before heading up the path to the door. I didn't think that she told Dad what she knew. Or hell, maybe Dad was just being nice because Sara was dead.

But then again, Dad hadn't been what you would call _nice_ tonight.

"Go upstairs and get into your pajamas," Mom said quietly. "As soon as I'm done tucking Molly in, I'll get the crib and we can set it up."

She put a hand on my shoulder, the one that ached particularly because of earlier with Brian in the bathroom, and also because that was the arm that I was using to carry most of Luke's weight. I wondered if she was purposely forgetting the fact that I was gay, and I wanted to bring it up. I wanted to shove it in her face. But I was tired and hurting and anyway, it would wake Luke up and that was the _last_ thing I wanted. So instead I just shrugged her hand off and headed upstairs.

ooo

The crib still had pink and purple frills on it, from when Molly had had been sleeping in it. Fortunately, it required a hammer to reassemble, so Mom just brought down the collapsible bassinet instead.

"Your father isn't mad at you," Mom said, as she pushed the holders into place, insuring that Luke wouldn't be crushed while he slept. "He just—he deals with anger better than anything else."

"I know," I said quietly.

It wasn't true, of course. But it was what Mom had been telling me ever since Dad had first blown up at me, when he heard that Sara didn't want to have an abortion.

"There. And here's a—"

"His blanket's in the diaper bag," I interrupted. I inhaled, exhaled. "Sara says—Sara said that he sleeps with it every night."

Mom paused, and then nodded, unzipping the diaper bag. "Well, then, that's what he'll have."

I laid him down in the bassinet, and tried not to think about how soft and cushy the mattress was. Firm mattresses had been shown to decrease the risk of SIDS. And bassinets really weren't meant to be used beyond the age of four months, or really, as soon as the baby could roll over, because a bassinet typically wasn't stable enough—

"He'll be fine for one night, Justin," Mom said, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I shook her off, tearing my eyes away from Luke. I knew I was being stupid.

I sat down on my bed (my ass protested, but I was too tired to care) as Mom laid the blanked over Luke. I was done. I had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, and I didn't have the energy to worry about it.

"I'll call St. James tomorrow and let them know that you're not coming in," Mom said, sitting down next to me. "We'll figure this all out in the morning, okay?"

I nodded. I closed my eyes and let myself lean closer to her, laying my head on her shoulder and trying to seek comfort.

Her hand came up and stroked the side of my head as I inhaled her scent, and it was _wrong_. I didn't want my Mom. I wanted Brian. I wanted the smell of cigarettes and sweat and sex, and I wanted his hands running through my hair, his strong arms around me—

The unfairness of it all rose a sob in my throat, and I jerked away from Mom.

"I wanna be alone," I whispered.

Mom was quiet for a moment, and then she pressed a kiss to the side of my head. "Okay. If you need anything, Justin—if you want to talk, or cry, or watch Yellow Submarine, just come and get me. I don't care what time it is."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

She left, leaving the door cracked open, and I shoved my face into my pillow to muffle my sobs.

ooo

Luke was up at six, demanding a diaper change, and I had done it enough times that I was able to stumble through it half-asleep. I thought about leaving the dirty diaper on the counter, just to gross Molly out, but then I remembered that Sara was dead, and I just dropped the diaper in the trashcan. I put Luke back in the bassinet with a toy cell phone he loved to slobber on, and lay back down on my bed. Luke was gurgling happily when I fell back asleep.

I was woken up around eight by Luke's whimpering, but this time I knew he was hungry. I'd never done a morning feeding before, but a few of the times that I'd gone over to Sara's in the morning, I'd been early enough to catch Luke with oatmeal smeared all over his face. So... breakfast. I'd have to see what was in the diaper bag and what I could scrounge up in the kitchen.

"Hey, little man," I whispered as I lifted Luke out of the bassinet. I winced at the twinges up pain from my ass, but it was a major improvement from last night.

Luke's face crumpled upon seeing me. He was probably expecting Sara.

"Sorry, dude," I said, swallowing. "You're stuck with me."

Luke continued to cry as I picked up the diaper bag, but he calmed down a little when I bounced him lightly. By the time I got down to the kitchen, we were only dealing with a few residual sniffles.

There was a high chair at the table, and Mom was whisking batter in a bowl.

"Is Dad at work?" I asked.

Mom nodded. "He's going to stop by Mr. Anderson's house on his lunch break. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. C'mon, dude, let's get you in your high chair. Look, it's got Care Bears on it. I bet you don't know who they are. They were old when I was your age."

Luke settled into the high chair well, and I decided to check out the diaper bag.

"We have Cheerios," Mom offered. "Does he eat those? He's eating solid food, right?"

I nodded. "Breakfast is usually formula, oatmeal, bananas, and a little bit of yogurt. Sara switched out the oatmeal for Cheerios, sometimes, and he was fine with it." There wasn't any yogurt in the bag, but there was a banana and some formula.

"He looks just like you, when you were a baby," Mom said, with more than a trace of nostalgia.

Luke had the same white-blonde hair that I'd had at his age, but his eyes were a gray-green color, not blue. He didn't have any other distinct qualities, as far as Sara or I could tell—there was no, "Oh, he has your nose," or "Look, he got your chin,". Luke looked like a baby. That was about it.

"Cal's gonna raise him," I said, although I wasn't sure if I was reminding my mother or myself. I busied myself preparing the formula.

"Someone's going to have to do it," Mom said.

Someone that wasn't me.

ooo

This all changed, however, when Dad came home a little after noon. Luke and I were playing a game where he threw his little stuffed hippo and then giggled as I retrieved it for him, and Mom was sorting laundry.

"Cal Anderson is gone," he said flatly, staring at me as though it was my fault.

Luke's hippo went sailing past me as I stared.

"What do you mean, Craig?" Mom asked, ever unflappable.

"I mean, he's gone," Dad said. "He didn't show up for work, won't answer his phone, and the house is dark and closed up. I don't know where the hell he is."

He was still glaring at me.

"You think I do?" I asked incredulously.

Luke got impatient and began making agitated noises, and I quickly leaned over and picked up his hippo.

"Well, he'll be back, of course," Mom said reasonably. "I'm sure he just needs some time."

"And what? We're left raising his kid until then?" Dad demanded.

"He's _my_ kid," I threw in, my irritation rising.

Dad glanced at me. "You're seventeen, Justin. You can't raise a child."

"Sara was doing it," I said stubbornly, although I wasn't sure why I was arguing. I knew as well as Mom and Dad did that I couldn't keep him. I had a whole life in front of me—college, art, Brian—and I couldn't give that up.

"I'm sure Cal will be back," Mom said soothingly, crossing the room to rub my father's shoulders.

"We're not raising his kid," Dad said again, glaring at Luke, now. "We'll give him a week, and then the kid goes up for adoption."

My head snapped up. "_What?_"

"What else are we going to do with him?" Dad asked, gesturing at Luke impatiently. "I'm not raising him. _You_ certainly aren't raising him."

My mouth dropped open, and I had to fight back the tears that sprang to my eyes.

"Craig, I don't think—"

"That's fucked," I choked out, and both of my parents stared at me in shock.

"You watch your mouth," Dad warned.

I swallowed, anger overtaking my hurt. "I'm not sending him off to live with some strangers—he's _my_ son, and if I have to raise him, then I'll do it! I'll drop out of school! I don't care! I—"

Luke began to wail, and I realized that I was shouting. I quickly lowered my voice, feeling vaguely embarrassed, and scooped him up. I glared at my father, who glared back.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here," Mom said, sounding nervous. "We don't know that Cal isn't coming back."

"Luke isn't going up for adoption," I said quietly, rubbing his back. He was quieting again. I gave him a pacifier, and he sucked away happily.

Dad stared at me for a long moment, clearly restraining himself from saying a multitude of things, and finally he said, in a low voice, "While he's here, you're to keep him in your room. You'll feed him, change him, play with him, and you'll pay your mother to watch him while you're at school. Any time you want to go out, you're going to have to find a babysitter."

Anger pounded in my veins. "Fine."

"Raising a child is not something to be taken lightly," Dad went on, eying Luke. "Hopefully, by the time Cal comes back, you'll have realized that."

I glared.

He was partially right. Taking care of a baby was a huge time investment, one that I very nearly didn't have the ability to make, but I didn't care. Some instinct inside of me had awoken, filling me with a thrum of power and determination that I had never before known.

Luke was my son. No one was going to take him away from me.


	2. Stumble

**Breakneck**

**Chapter 2: Stumble**

"So, do you think Cal's gonna come back?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. But the house was all closed up and everything, and you didn't see him at the hospital, when he handed me Luke... He looked like he'd been gutted of the will to live."

Daphne gave me a sidelong glance.

"Light's green," I told her. "What are you thinking?"

"I just—well." Daphne made a left turn into the parking lot of Walgreens, not looking at me. "I'm worried that Cal might have done something stupid. You know. Did you think about that?"

"You think he committed suicide?" I asked. My stomach turned—the thought had not occurred to me.

She shrugged. "Why not? It makes sense, with him not showing up for work and the house being all dark and locked up and stuff."

"He wouldn't." I couldn't help the uncertainty that crept into my voice.

"That would be kind of stupidly dramatic," Daphne agreed, but I knew that part of her was suppressing the urge to say how cool it would be to discover a dead body. "What do we need here, anyway? You said you'd tell me when we were out of the house."

We were out on an errand to get Luke's car seat out of Sara's car; Mom had given Molly's away years ago and I had told her that I had a spare key to Sara's car. She had agreed to watch Luke, since I couldn't exactly take him with me without the car seat. I had privately requested a side trip to Walgreens, when Daphne had arrived.

"I saw Brian last night at the hospital," I told her as she put the car in park and killed the engine. "We fucked in a bathroom stall. It was rough. Hot, but rough."

"You had _sex_ in the hospital last night!" Daphne all but squawked.

I frowned, starting to get out of the car. "Yeah. Look, anyway, I need some cream for my ass, so—"

"Justin," Daphne said flatly, grabbing my arm.

Whatever shit she'd been holding back on my account before, I knew that she wasn't going to spare me here.

"Did you ask him to make it rough?" she asked, deadly serious.

My eyes widened. "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you asking if Brian _raped_ me? That's bullshit, Daph!"

Her grip tightened. "That's not what I was asking. Justin, you know that using sex as a coping method isn't healthy, right?"

"It helped," I snapped, trying to pull away, but Daphne had a firm grip. "Anyway, it's not like I'm going to have time to go out and get fucked whenever I want to. I've got to stay home with Luke, now. So fuck off."

"Don't yell at me," Daphne said coolly. "I'm the one giving you a ride to the pharmacy so you can pick up cream to heal yourself because you went on a self-destructive spree last night."

Abruptly, I wanted to burst into tears, which was stupid, but knowing that I was being stupid only made it worse. My throat tightened and I fought down a sob.

I forced myself to take in a deep breath, close my eyes and count to ten. I was okay. Sara was dead, but Luke and I were alive, and even though Cal might be lying in a pool of his own vomit on the—Jesus, no, don't think about that. Not right now. You're okay, Luke is okay, and that's what matters. Sara is dead. You're dealing with that. Don't start crying in front of Daphne. You're stronger than that.

Taking in another deep breath, the tears all but gone, I reconciled myself with Daphne's words.

She was wrong. Last night, I hadn't been self-destructive, I'd been healing myself. Dealing with my grief. Dealing with the fact that my mother knew I was gay and my son's mother and primary caretaker had died. It had been so spontaneous and painful and good—so in the moment. It had been what I'd needed, and Brian had given it to me.

"It won't happen again," I finally said, my voice even. I was feeling calm again. "I was just... dealing in the moment, okay? That was what I needed then. I got it. I don't need it anymore."

Daphne didn't look happy, but she let my arm go. "Does Brian know that?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He was kind of freaked afterward. He made me promise to pick up this cream, and to see a doctor if I'm still in pain by tonight."

Well, he hadn't made me promise, but it sounded a little more romantic than: "He gruffly reminded me".

"All right," she said warily. "Let's go get this cream of yours."

Relieved, I climbed out of the car, wincing as my ass twinged.

I was subdued as we went inside, and didn't even make a face when Daphne took a detour to the tampon aisle before we paid. I let her put an arm around my waist as we left, and when I leaned in to kiss the side of her head, I was surprised to find myself not wishing that she was Brian as I had with Mom last night. Daphne was Daphne, and I'd never want to replace her.

ooo

"Do you think you're going to be okay, going to the house?" Daphne asked.

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. The grief seemed so much less raw than it had last night, but it was still present, and the thought of going into Sara's house and seeing her room, seeing Luke's corner, which was practically covered in sketches of everything I'd ever associated with him... "I mean, Sara and I weren't really close. It was just Luke, and before him, we barely knew each other. The only reason we slept together was because she thought she might be a lesbian, and I thought I might be gay."

Daphne smirked. "And we know how that went."

The failed dyke and the reaffirmed faggot. That had made for a few awkward weeks.

The thought of those weeks, more than a year and a half ago, made a sudden sob rise up in my throat, and I struggled to get myself under control.

"Justin?" Daphne asked gently.

I fought to get myself under control, but I was babbling before I could stop myself. "It's just—I wish that she was still _here_. I wish that she'd been able to raise Luke and see him take his first steps and talk and color, and I wish that she'd been able to meet a really amazing guy who'd love her and love Luke, and she's never gonna get that now."

Daphne slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road.

"Shit," I said, wiping desperately at my eyes. "I'm crying like a stupid little faggot. Shit. Keep driving, Daph, I'm fine."

Daphne made no move to start the car.

It was quiet.

"It's just not fair!" I burst out, slamming my hand down on the armrest. "It's not fucking _fair_. Why did she have to die?"

"I don't know," Daphne said, taking my hand and rubbing it. "I don't know why."

"It's not even that I miss her," I said miserably, the battle against my tears almost too much. "She was this passing presence, in the background—and it sounds horrible, but I don't miss her. I didn't love her. She was a homebody who didn't do anything but read and surf the internet." I was horrified by the things coming out of my mouth, but couldn't seem to stop. "She was so caught up in her fantasy novels and her role-playing whatever the fuck that she never wanted to face the real world. She thought she could just write a story about dragons, and _poof_, all better now. She lived in denial. She self-indulged in immaturity. I didn't even _like_ her, Daph."

Daphne exhaled slowly.

I sought her eyes desperately. "Why does it hurt this much?"

"Because you feel, Justin," Daphne said, squeezing my hand.

"That's fucked," I whispered.

"You're hurting because, even if you didn't like her and you didn't love her, she still played an important part in your life. And you'll never have that again. Luke's never gonna have that again, and he's too little to grieve, so you've gotta do it for him. And—" Daphne hesitated. "Well, I think you have a little misplaced guilt about getting Sara pregnant in the first place. I think that you were hoping that if she graduated and got married and lived happily ever after, you'd be absolved of that, and now you'll never have that chance."

I nodded, swallowing again. My throat was still tight, and I didn't dare attempt speech.

"It's okay to cry," Daphne added softly.

I shook my head. I inhaled as best I could, forcing my emotions down. "I know. But I don't need to. Right now, we need to get Luke's car seat and shit, and get back home before my father pitches a fit."

Daphne studied me for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay, Justin."

ooo

I had conveniently forgotten to mention that I had a spare key to the house as well as a spare key to Sara's car, so I was able to determine for myself that Cal was actually not home, and that he hadn't killed himself in a fit of misery (at least, not in his house). His bedroom was in disarray, and when I opened the door to his mostly-emptied closet, I knew with heart-sinking certainty that Cal was not coming back for a while. So I grabbed boxes of formula, Luke's toys, the half-empty pack of diapers, and assorted other things that I wanted him to have, and loaded it up around the car seat.

"If Cal doesn't come back, do you think I could just take Sara's car?" I asked, as we were pulling out of the driveway.

Daphne swatted me. "Justin!"

We drove to my house in silence, and when we arrived Daphne helped me haul everything into the house. Luke was crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked, poking my head into the family room.

Dad looked up mid-pace, a squalling Luke in his arms, and he looked nothing short of pissed. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What did you do to him?" I demanded.

"Take him." Dad stalked over, Luke thrust out in my direction. His wails got louder as he twisted in midair, arms and legs flailing frantically.

"Don't!" I snatched him up, quickly getting a hand under his bottom. "He doesn't like being dangled."

"I asked you a question, Justin," Dad reminded me, tone three cents sharp of in-control. He handed me an abandoned pacifier. "I expect you to answer."

"I was out with Daphne, picking up his car seat, Mom said it was okay," I said, while rubbing a hand up and down Luke's back and gently bouncing him. He seemed to be calming down, marginally. "Where did Mom go?"

"She had a PTA meeting for your sister. Why does it take you an hour and a half to fetch a car seat?"

Oh, shit. Had it really taken that long?

"Justin?"

I turned around and found Daphne standing in the entrance to the family room, looking nervous. I attempted a smile. "Thanks for the help, Daph. I'll see you later."

"All right. Bye, Mr. Taylor."

Dad inclined his head.

I turned my attention to Luke, who hadn't stopped crying. I tried to get him to take his pacifier, but he wasn't having it. "Did you check his diaper?"

"Clean," my father said impatiently. "And your mother was feeding him an hour ago, when I got home."

"What was she feeding him?" I asked.

Dad shrugged. "Yogurt, some pears, mashed vegetables."

I frowned, continuing to rub circles onto Luke's back even though it had no apparent effect on him. He was still half-hysterical. "He's had all that before, so it can't be an allergic reaction, but—"

It dawned on me.

"He had too much yogurt," I said.

Dad raised an eyebrow.

"He's still adjusting to dairy—he can only take so much every day. Too much, and he gets a tummy ache."

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd been home."

I scowled. Luke continued to bawl loudly.

"Take him upstairs," Dad said, making a shooing motion. "I dealt with my screaming babies, and I'm not dealing with yours."

Inhaling, trying not to let the sudden wash of despair take over me, I slowly turned around and walked out of the family room.

I was two days behind on homework, had a sick baby to deal with, no way to pay for my mom to babysit him when I went back to school, and no way to see Brian again any time soon. Last night felt like a lifetime ago. As I carried Luke up the stairs and heard the sound of Molly's door slamming shut to ward off the sound of Luke's cries, I suddenly felt very, very alone.

ooo

I was in the middle of changing the second diarrhea diaper of the night when there was a knock at my door. Mom poked her head in.

"Hi, honey," she said, stepping in a shutting the door behind her.

Luke had stopped crying, although he was always happiest when there was no diaper on his bottom. He would fuss a bit when I put on a new one. But even though he'd stopped crying, I'd kept the door shut. It was more of a validation of my feelings of isolation, than anything.

"Your father told me what happened," Mom said softly. She sat down on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Justin. I didn't realize that he was still sensitive to dairy."

I shook my head. "It's okay. He's almost got it all out."

Probably one more diaper of diarrhea, and then I'd have to get him to drink water (Luke hated water, more than anything else in the world) because diarrhea meant dehydration, and that meant that he'd need to have his diaper changed around three in the morning, which meant that I wasn't going to get a full night's sleep unless I was really, really lucky and Luke decided to sleep in his soiled diaper.

But I didn't say any of that. It was, after all, my own fault.

I slid the new diaper under Luke, and predictably, his face scrunched up in protest. He started to roll over, off of the diaper, but I caught his shoulder and forced him back. "I don't think so, dude."

"You always hated diapers, too," Mom said, with fondness. "You were my little exhibitionist."

I thought about dancing at Babylon with my shirt off, about my two ventures into the backroom, and suppressed the urge to reply, _Yeah, not much has changed._

"I'm sorry that Daphne and I took so long," I said instead, while I stuck on the straps of Luke's diaper. "We ended up talking."

Luke was deposited on the floor, where he immediately began dragging himself forward on his belly. Toward what, I don't know. He just liked to move around for the hell of it.

"Justin." Mom sounded pained.

I screwed on the cap to the diaper rash lotion and then turned to face her. I was determined that, no matter what came out of her mouth, I would not cry. I was feeling calm now, and I wanted to cling to that for as long as possible.

"Whatever your father may say, I understand that you're going through a lot right now, and I don't blame you for needing the support of your best friend. He's just too upset to see that right now. I'm sure he'll calm down in a few days."

"I went into their house," I blurted out suddenly.

Mom looked at me in surprise. "You have a key?"

I shook my head, definitely not wanting her to have that piece of information. "The neighbor let me in. I just wanted to make sure... you know... Mr. Anderson wasn't still there. And he wasn't."

Mom nodded.

"His clothes were all gone," I said. Part of me felt like I should be hysterical about this, but I felt calm. Rational. Steady. "Mom, I don't think he's going to be coming back soon."

Mom closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. "If it comes to that, Justin, we'll deal with it. Let's just take this one day at a time."

"I'm going to set up the crib," I told her. "It's not safe for him to be sleeping in a bassinet. And I grabbed a bunch of stuff from Mr. Anderson's house—Luke's stuff."

"Okay," Mom said, after an extended silence. She gave me a shaky smile. "You stay here with Luke, and I'll go get the crib. It's my third time around with this thing, so I think we might have it up by the end of the night."

I returned her shaky smile and watched her leave the room.

She didn't close the door behind her.

I plopped down on the floor and grabbed Luke's foot, dragging him back to me. Luke let out a loud giggle and immediately took off again, belly-crawling as fast as he could away from me. I let him get about two feet before I reached out and dragged him back, with a crowed, "Gotcha!"

Luke screeched with laughter and set off to escape.

I foiled his efforts again. "I got you again!" I declared, flipping him over onto his belly and then leaning over to rub my nose against his. "You'll never escape me, little monster!"

"You're such a freak," Molly declared as she walked past my door.

I grinned down at Luke, who was still laughing. Fuck 'em all.

ooo

I didn't go to school the following day, either. I had only stayed home from school to help with Luke once, when Sara had been sick and her father hadn't been able to take off work, but that had been almost five months ago. All I had known about Luke's schedule was what I had gathered from Sara talking, so things had been a little rough yesterday, but today went smoother. So smoothly, in fact, that Mom felt compelled to use the time during Luke's afternoon nap to bring up a few unpleasant topics I'd been avoiding.

"Justin," she said haltingly.

I looked up from my copy of _As I Lay Dying_. I was attempting to get caught up on my homework, with little success. The book was absolutely wretched. "Hm?"

She sat down opposite me. "I was just thinking—you know, with Mr. Anderson gone, what about Sara's funeral? Do you know what's going on with that?"

I inhaled sharply, but the pain that lanced me though the chest was bearable now. I'd spent last night hearing Daphne's words over and over in my head, but it hadn't been senseless crying like the first night. Last night, I'd felt better afterward. I felt better today. And as my thoughts turned to Sara's funeral, I found myself able to push down my emotions and go through it rationally.

"I don't know," I said slowly, thinking aloud. "They don't have any extended family. Sara used to have a small circle of friends in drama club, and Mr. Anderson had a really good group of hunting buddies, but... There's no one, now, I guess. Just me and Luke. But she should have a burial, at least."

It cut me in new ways to realize that Sara would go into the ground with no memorial service, no family weeping at her grave, no pile of flowers on her burial site—she had nothing. No one.

But what else was there to do?

"I'll talk to your father about it," Mom finally said.

I nodded. Suddenly eager to read my book, I focused on the words before me, but I hadn't gotten through more than a sentence when Mom spoke again.

"Justin," she said again.

I exhaled and lowered my book. She looked even more reluctant.

"I hope you know that, despite what your father says, I'm not going to ask you to pay me to watch Luke while you go to school."

My mouth dropped open a little bit. "Oh."

"Anything other than school will be a different story," she warned, pointing a finger at me. "I won't become your personal babysitter—your father is right about that, Justin. If you want Luke, you're going to have to make sacrifices like any other parent. You can't go gallivanting off every night."

I nodded slowly, too surprised to protest her comments about my apparent gallivanting. I almost never saw my mother undermine my father—she'd talk to him, plead with him, and sometimes she'd be able to twist things in my favor a little, but very rarely did she get fed up with his stubbornness and simply go behind his back.

"And speaking of your gallivanting," she suddenly said, frowning. "I don't know what exactly you were up to these past few weeks, but I have a general idea and I don't like it."

My stomach dropped. "Mom—"

"Honey, I just think you're too young to be making these kinds of choices," Mom said reasonably. "Maybe you should talk to—"

"It's not a _choice_," I said through clenched teeth. I slammed my book shut and stood up.

"Justin, please," she said, rising to her feet and reaching for me. "I only want to help."

I jerked away, heading for the hallway. "I don't need help, Mom. Just leave me alone."

"Justin. Justin, get back here!"

"Sorry, Mom, I have to go make poor life choices—oh, wait, too late! I already _chose_ to be a fag!"

I heard my mother's gasp, and moments later, the sound of Luke crying from his crib.

Dammit.

ooo

I relayed the conversation to Daphne later that night, after giving Luke his bath (which had just been all kinds of fun—I mentioned that the kid hates water, right?).

"So you told her?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Yep," I said proudly. "I said it."

"And then you ran away," Daphne pointed out dryly.

"I went upstairs," I corrected, frowning.

"What_ever_." I could hear her roll her eyes. "You can't just expect her to forget about it. Your Mom is ten kinds of over-involved in your life."

"She is not!" I insisted. "You remember Debbie Novotny? She hangs out in the same gay bars as her son just to bond with him—_that's_ over-involved."

"What do you think she's gonna do?" Daphne asked. "Your mom, I mean. Not Debbie Novotny."

I glanced down to where Luke was sort of commando-creeping his way around the floor. "You should see Luke right now," I said, unable to help the grin on my face. "He's the weirdest little dude—he can't crawl yet, but he's been dragging himself on his elbows, right? Today he's got this thing where he pushes himself forward with his leg, and then pulls himself forward with his arm. He's, like, slithering all over the floor."

"Justin, on track," Daphne said sternly.

I let out a breath of air. "Right. I mean, I don't know what she's gonna do. She says she wants to help me, but I don't think she'll tell my father, so... Maybe she'll just start slipping me Jesus pamphlets and buying me Pray Out the Gay books?"

"Your Mom's not really religious, though."

"Yeah. Well, apparently non-religious people can be homophobes, too," I sighed, sitting down on the floor next to Luke. I picked up the Fisher-Price ring stacker thing that every child in the world had to own, and dumped the rings on the floor.

Luke caught sight of the blue ring and made a few swipes at it before he finally got a hand on it and dragged it towards himself. Unsurprisingly, he tried to put it in his mouth. The circumference of the ring was on par with that of his head, though, so he didn't get very much in there.

"Did I miss anything huge in school?" I asked, changing the subject. I stacked the remaining rings inversely, starting with the smallest and going up from there.

"Not really. It's homecoming next week, or some bullshit like that."

"Aw, you couldn't get a date?" I asked, with faux-sympathy.

"Well, there is one boy that I think I could put up with for the night..."

"Sorry," I said, knocking over my tower. "Luke's not allowed out past eight on school nights."

Daphne giggled. "I meant _you_, stupid."

"Sorry, Daph," I told her, my voice sobering a little as my heart sank. "I—there's just no way. I've got to stay home with Luke. Anyway, we went to homecoming last year and it blew."

Daphne was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, it did."

I swallowed, feeling guilty. To distract myself, I grabbed the yellow ring and placed it on top of Luke's head. It looked a bit like a halo.

Until Luke tilted his head and it fell off, of course. The new ring made him let out a string of babble as he abandoned the blue one and started slobbering all over the yellow one, instead. I grinned.

"But listen to you, Mr. Responsible!" Daphne said finally, surging right back to her normal, bouncy self. "Maybe we could make a night of it at your house or something, instead. We can watch that really gross musical Alice in Wonderland porn from the seventies!"

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew. I don't wanna look at pussy."

"But it's a musical, all gay men like musicals," Daphne said dismissively. "Besides, it would be weird if we watched porn that you did like."

"We'll talk about it," I finally allowed.

There was a pause.

"So, are you coming back to school tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"Well, tomorrow's Friday, so even if your day's really shitty, at least you'll have the weekend to recuperate."

I sighed. "If only recuperating consisted a lot more of getting laid, and a lot less of convincing Luke to try new foods."

"Poor baby," Daphne said sympathetically.

"I know," I moaned. "I was so horny this morning!"

"Ew—no, I meant Luke, doofus. The poor baby, having mushy squash and yams shoved down his throat all day. No wonder he doesn't want to try new stuff!"

Luke had abandoned the rings and slithered over to where I was sitting on the floor, and was attempting to climb up into my lap. I gave him a boost and let him sit belly-up on my lap.

"Screw you," I told her, but I was smiling.

"Does that mean that your ass cream worked?" Daphne asked. "You're all healed up and ready to go?"

"Yep!" I said brightly.

Luke had two of my fingers shoved in his mouth by this point, and was swiping at one of the cords from my hoodie with the hand that wasn't on my fingers.

"And your less-than-physical wounds?" Daphne ventured.

Luke let my fingers go, having gotten the cord to my hoodie in the fist, and he was now shoving that into his mouth.

"I think Luke has an oral fixation problem," I told her, wiping my slobbery fingers on his sleeper. "And yeah, I guess that's better, too. Mom and I talked about a burial today."

"Oh, right. She doesn't really have anyone, does she?"

I shook my head. "Not really. With Cal gone, it's just Luke."

"That's heartbreaking," Daphne said with a sigh. "God, Justin. Can you imagine being all alone in the world like that?"

I thought of earlier, but didn't say anything. "Will you come to the burial?" I asked instead.

"Of course!" Daphne sounded offended that I'd even asked.

"And we'll bring flowers," I said resolutely. "I don't want her to... be alone."

Luke had apparently found something that he didn't like about the taste of the cord because his fist came flailing out of his mouth and he let out a cry.

"Is that Luke?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah," I said, trapping the phone between my ear and shoulder and picking him up. "It's getting close to his bedtime, so he's probably just cranky. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure. See ya."

"Bye."

I let the phone drop and focused on Luke, who hadn't calmed down.

"Hey," I said softly, running a hand over his hair. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you being a drama queen?" I reached for the yellow ring he'd been occupied with earlier. "How about this, huh? You want this?"

I balanced it on his head for a moment, but Luke wasn't having it. His stuffed hippo produced a similar reaction. I checked his diaper, but it was clean.

"I think you're just being cranky," I told him, going for the pacifier. Luke immediately latched onto it, sucking at a furious pace.

I let out a sigh of relief. My son's oral fixation had been taken care of.

Too bad my own would have to wait a while.


	3. Balance

**Breakneck**

**Chapter 3: Balance**

Two weeks later, Cal had still not returned. Sara had been buried and Luke had stopped crying every morning when it was me, not his mother, who lifted him out of his crib. My father was nothing short of incensed about the whole situation, and I therefore hadn't left the house for anything but school since Luke had arrived. I was ridiculously horny, but I couldn't leave the house because my father kept making noises about adoption and wringing Cal Anderson's neck for saddling him with a baby, so I resigned myself to jerking off during Luke's naps. It was a poor substitute.

This is the only reasonable excuse I can come up with for why I did what I did when Brian showed up at my school, almost three weeks after we'd fucked in the bathroom at the hospital.

I caught sight of him as soon as I pushed open the doors to leave, leaning against his jeep with his sunglasses. I stopped in my tracks, blinking.

"Justin?" Daphne asked, turning around to look at me.

"Brian's here," I said, staring. He hadn't yet noticed me.

"Oh my God." Daphne's mouth fell open into an astonished grin. "Oh my God, Justin, what do you think he wants?"

A shiver ran down my spine, unbidden, and when I looked up Brian was looking in my direction. The sunglasses made it impossible to see what he was looking at, but I knew that his eyes were focused on me.

"Wait for me, okay?" I asked, and I pressed a kiss to her cheek and took off before she could deny me. Excitement was thrumming in my veins—Brian was here! At my school!

I bounded down the stairs and across the lawn, stopping just short of running into Brian.

"Hey!" I said breathlessly, unable to contain the huge grin that had broken out on my face.

"So," Brian drawled, tipping his head forward so that his sunglasses slid down his nose slightly. "You _are_ alive."

"Duh," I said happily, tugging at the lapel on his jacket. "What else would I be?"

"Well, we haven't seen you in three weeks," Brian told me with a casual shrug. "Debbie and Emmett were having a collective queen out. They were afraid you'd been sent to Jesus camp or something."

I couldn't stop grinning. Brian had been _worried_ about me.

"Nope, no Jesus camp. Just family stuff. You know how it is. Anyway, they'd probably send me to military school, not Jesus camp."

"Uh-huh."

I nodded enthusiastically. Somewhere in the back of my head, a voice was telling me that I was acting like a puppy on crack, but after three weeks with no Brian, I couldn't control myself. I was just so goddamned _happy_.

"And you, uh..." Brian cleared his throat. "You healed okay?"

"Of course. I used some cream and it was fine," I said, rolling my eyes. It was true. I hadn't had any lingering pain since I'd returned to school. But then I stopped, sobering a bit. "Anyway, I told you, I wanted it like that. I needed it. You really helped me."

"Aren't you a little young to be self-medicating with sex?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing you haven't done before."

"I do _so_ enjoy being a role model for gay younglings everywhere."

I was smug. "You know you do. The idea of plunging into a tight little virgin ass, corrupting today's youth..." I glanced up at him and licked my lips. "It totally makes you hard. I would know."

"Yeah, whatever," Brian said impatiently, shifting.

I glanced down at his pants, and my grin widened. "Oops. Sorry about that."

Brian cleared his throat. "Sorry's bullshit."

"Then let me make it up to you in another way," I said, closing the distance between us and fingering the top button of his jeans.

Brian stared down at me, somewhere between amused and disbelieving. "We're in your school parking lot. Surrounded by the straight, impressionable, virginal youth of upper class Pittsburgh."

I popped the button and slid my hand down his pants, leaning forward so that I was flush against him. "Should be even more of a turn-on, then."

The height difference between us worked in my favor, here, and I didn't have to lean down at all. His cock was ramrod straight when my hand closed around it, and I gave it two strokes before reaching down and running the base of my palm of the underside. Brian let out a choked noise and put his hands on my shoulders, clenching painfully. I grinned into his chest and did it once more, and then closed my hand around his cock again and, gripping from the base, corkscrewed my hand down his length. Brian's hips bucked against mine in response, and his fingers dug into my shoulders painfully.

He grunted something in my ear, but I didn't catch it and didn't really care what it was anyway. Pre-come was leaking down his cock, giving me a little lubricant to work with, and I pulled harder, tightening my hand as I went down his shaft. His breathing was hot in my ear, hips jerking in time with my hand, thrusting into my first, head tilted back.

I ran my fingers up the underside of his cock, and with a shudder and a stilted gasp, Brian came.

He fell back against the Jeep, panting, and I went with him, carefully sliding my hand out of his pants.

"You little shit," Brian said breathlessly, releasing my shoulders. "Do you know how much that pair of underwear cost?"

I pushed myself back and glanced down. "Probably less than your jeans." And then I wiped my hand on his thigh.

"What the _fuck?_" Brian all but yelped, leaping out of reach and then staring in horror at his pants.

I shrugged. "They're already ruined. And I needed to wipe my hand off on something."

"The next time I want a three hundred dollar hand job, I'll fucking pay for it in cash," Brian snarled, attempting to brush the wet stain off of his jeans. "Christ."

Like I was gonna apologize.

"Hey, Justin?"

I turned my head and saw Daphne coming down the sidewalk.

"If you want to be home before your dad, we've got to leave now," she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of her car.

"Brian, this is Daphne."

Brian gave me his extra special And I Care Why? expression, and I glared before turning back to Daphne.

"Daph, can you give me, like, two minutes?"

She shrugged. "I'm not the one who'll get yelled at."

I felt my face flush. Um, hello? Brian was standing right here, and raging fathers were so _not cool_.

"That's all right, Daphne," Brian said sweetly, swinging into his Jeep. "I was just leaving."

"But—"

"And I want to see your ass out on Liberty Avenue this week," Brian declared, leveling a finger at me. "A young boy such as yourself needs a balanced diet of sucking, fucking and rimming in order to succeed in life."

"Uh. I'll try," I said, and then I kicked myself for sounding so lame. "I mean, yeah, definitely!"

Brian didn't reply, and I watched as he started the Jeep and then reversed out of the parking lot and into the street.

"Come _on_," Daphne said, seizing my arm and pulling me away from where I'd been standing on the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot.

Now that Brian was gone, my brain was slowly coming back up to speed. Holy shit. I'd given Brian a hand job in my school parking lot—with, like, hundreds of breeders roaming around—and gotten away with it. Holy shit. I was getting hard just thinking about it.

I blinked and shook my head; Brian's parting statement came back to me.

"Hey, Daph?" I said slowly.

"What?"

"You don't have plans Friday night, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Is this a babysitting proposition?"

"Um. Maybe?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll give you all the juicy details," I offered, giving her a winning smile.

Daphne snorted. "Yeah, except you'd give me those anyway."

I racked my brain. "Um. I'll write you up a Cliff's Notes version of _As I Lay Dying_, chapter by chapter. By Monday."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "Deal."

"And you have to drive me to Liberty Avenue," I added in quickly.

"Still deal. If you measure my plants for that stupid AP bio project next week, I'll watch him next Friday, too."

I grinned. "I love you."

ooo

Luke had mastered the art of crawling last week, and with his newfound mobility he was dead set on the fact that he didn't want to be carried _anywhere_. Ever. I managed to get him into Dad's study, but as soon as we were in I had to put him down because he was already well past whimpering.

"I'm going out tomorrow night," I announced, my eyes on Luke as he start crawling across the white carpeting.

"Excuse me?" Dad said, setting down his pen.

"I'm paying Daphne to babysit Luke while I go out tomorrow night," I said evenly. "I wanted you to know. And I wanted to ask if I could borrow your cell phone, in case Daphne needs to contact me."

"And where are you going to go?" Dad asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can't just take a break from being a parent whenever you're feeling too stressed, Justin—you signed up to be in it for the long haul, and that's what you've got to give."

"I'm going out," I repeated. Inwardly, I was seething, but I didn't want to yell. Not with Luke in the room. "I'm using a babysitter, just like you and Mom used to use when you went to the country club once a week."

Dad stared at me with a mixture of anger and surprise, but he didn't say anything. He seemed to be expecting me to take my words back.

"Can I please borrow your phone tomorrow night?" I asked again, struggling to keep my voice level.

"No, you may not," Dad said. "If you want a cell phone, you can get a job and pay for one."

I inhaled and exhaled three times before I managed a curt, "Thanks anyway."

I bent down and scooped up Luke, who burst into tears.

"Shut the door on your way out, please," Dad requested, and it took everything in me not to slam it as I did.

ooo

"He shouldn't give you any trouble tonight," I told Daphne, my eyes on Luke, who was strapped in his car seat with his pacifier, looking around with wide eyes. I'd read in a baby book that it was at the end of eight months that a baby's vision really sharpened to adult standards, and from the way Luke had been watching everything with a new attentiveness, I was willing to bet that he was seeing a lot clearer now. "He'll get cranky about twenty minutes before bed time, but he'll settle down really fast once you get him in the crib. And read to him for at least ten minutes before he goes to bed. He shouldn't wake up once he's down. Well, sometimes he wakes up around three, but he's been doing that less lately."

"Justin, I have babysat before," Daphne said. "Do we really have to do this stereotypical, overprotective father bit?"

I bit my lip. "No. It's just—I wish I had a phone with me so that you could get in contact with me if anything goes wrong."

"Do you know Brian's number?" Daphne asked. "I could call him if something comes up."

I didn't know if I'd end up with Brian tonight, although I was definitely planning on it. And anyway, even if I didn't end up with him, he'd find a way to track me down if it was an emergency. I knew he would.

"He didn't exactly give it to me," I said haltingly. "So, um... He might not be happy about that. And don't mention Luke, if you have to call—just say it's a family emergency."

"Whatever. There's pen and paper in the glove box."

I scribbled the number down and jammed it into Daphne's purse, which sat between the two front seats of the car.

"Drop me off on the next block," I told her, straightening. "I want to stop by the diner and talk to Debbie, if she's working tonight."

"Are you going to Babylon tonight?" Daphne asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Whatever happens, I'll be home before six. That's when Dad gets up to go golfing."

I felt a burst of righteous anger at the thought of my father—again. I'd been stewing over this since last night. I was all but paying for room and board at home, shunned to my room, and he thought that he could tell me what to do? Why did I have to sneak around, pretending to obey his rules, when he barely acknowledged me? Where did he get off, ordering me around?

A gurgle from the backseat pulled me out of my thoughts. Luke had spit out his pacifier, and though he'd managed to pick it up again, he couldn't work out how to put it back in his mouth. His arm swung around and he was making distressed sounds that were only increasing in volume.

"Are you being a drama queen?" I asked, reaching back and helping him guide the pacifier back into his mouth. "Look at you, making a big deal out of nothing. You just like the attention, don't you? See that? All better."

Luke sucked at his pacifier contentedly, eyes fixed on my face.

I felt a rise of guilt, all of a sudden.

"We're here," Daphne said as the car pulled to a stop.

I turned away from Luke to look at her, and then I looked back at him. "Maybe..."

"Justin," Daphne interrupted. "You deserve some free time. You haven't been out in three weeks! Just because you have Luke doesn't mean that you have to give up on Brian."

I exhaled. "Yeah."

She shoved me. "Go! Go get laid. Luke and I will be fine."

I hesitated, but then I remembered jerking Brian off in public the other day, in my school parking lot of all places, and then I knew Daphne was right. I loved Brian. I loved Luke. There was room for two men in my life, even if I had to claw out a space for them with my bare hands.

"Bye, Luke," I said, twisting around to face him one last time. I kissed two of my fingers, and then pressed them to Luke's cheek. "Daddy loves you."

"Do I get a kiss?" Daphne asked.

I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you. I mean it, Daph—you're the best friend a gay single teenage father could ask for."

She beamed.

I got out of the car and was tempted to watch her drive away, but I forced myself to keep walking down the block toward the diner. No guilt. Not tonight. Tonight was about me.

Debbie was working at the diner. I hadn't taken three steps inside the diner before I heard an excited "Sunshine!", and I couldn't stop the grin that broke on my face. It was nice to be greeted so enthusiastically by someone who wasn't Luke, for a change.

"Hi," I said, waving a little.

Debbie bustled over, tray balanced on one hand, and smacked me on the back of the head. "And where the hell have you been? I was worried sick about you!"

"Sorry?" I tried.

"Damn right you are," she declared, before steering me into a booth. "I told that asshole to check up on you last week, and I'd have done it myself if I didn't have to work all the fuckin' time."

It took me a moment to realize 'that asshole' actually meant Brian Kinney.

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," I said. "I was just busy with family stuff."

Debbie's eyes narrowed. "You come out to your parents, Sunshine?"

I shook my head. "No. Well. My mom knows, but she's pretending she doesn't. And there's no way I'm coming out to my dad—he'd shit a brick."

"Fuckin' asshole," Debbie said, while fondly patting my cheek. "Sunshine, don't you ever let anyone get in the way of what you want. You deserve to get your brains fucked out of you like any other horny kid your age—hell, with that ass, you were fuckin' made for it. Now, what'll it be?"

I flushed. "Thanks, Deb. But I can't really stay—I want to get to Woody's..."

She raised an eyebrow. "Looking for a certain someone?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?" I asked brightly.

Debbie clucked at me. "Honey, in Brian's case, I think the only thing he's ever going to be fond of is your absence. Get a different hang up. You deserve better."

"I can't think of anything better than Brian Kinney," I told her, and then I raised my eyebrows. "And half of Liberty Avenue agrees."

"Yeah, the half that he hasn't fucked," Debbie said, rolling her eyes.

But I was confident. Brian Kinney didn't do repeats—except he'd repeated me twice in the last month, and let me give him a hand job in the school parking lot. I was special.

I said goodbye to Debbie (who slapped my ass, shoved a lemon bar in my hand before I got out the door, and made me promise to call her if I ever needed to talk) and then headed down to Woody's. It was nearing Luke's bedtime, and he was probably giving Daphne a hard time with things right now. He was probably even more cranky than usual, because I wasn't there. He'd just gotten used to having me tuck him in at night instead of Sara, and now I'd gone and dumped him with someone he'd barely spent more than a few hours with.

"Stop it," I muttered, shaking my head. "He's fine. He'll see you in the morning."

I pushed all thoughts of Luke out of my head as I stepped into Woody's. Tonight was about me.

And I was in luck—I immediately spotted Emmett sitting at a table by himself, though there was a coat slung over the chair next to him, so he was probably with Ted or Michael. I bounded over, plunking down in the chair with the coat on it.

"Hey!"

"Justin!" Emmett practically squealed. He dove over the table to give me a huge hug, squeezing me tightly. "Oh, I was so worried about you, baby! Where did you go?"

"I had family stuff," I said dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm back now. What did I miss?"

Emmett snorted. "Absolutely nothing."

"Nuh-uh," I said, playfully hitting him on the shoulder. "I was gone for three weeks—something must have happened."

Emmett's eyes cast around the room for a moment, but I knew he'd given in. "Well... you didn't hear it from me, but—"

"Gossiping already?" a familiar voice asked from behind me. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and your self control is self-destructing already?"

I turned around to see Brian standing there, looking simultaneously well-fucked and amused.

"Who, me?" Emmett asked innocently.

Brian rolled his eyes, and upon making a complete circle they landed on me.

I grinned. "I'm here!"

"And sitting in my seat."

"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brian smirked. Then he snagged my ear, pinching it hard, and dragged me up and out of the seat, ignoring my yelps of pain. Upon reclaiming his seat, I was released.

I glared, rubbing at my ear. "That hurt."

"Then don't write checks your tush can't cash," Brian said, unaffected.

"My tush," I said, "is my most valuable asset."

And then I sat down on his lap.

"Kiss it better," I demanded, angling my ear to his mouth while wriggling in his lap.

I felt his cock twitch under my ass, and he tried to shove me off but I managed to keep my position. With more wiggling. Brian was clearly not used to having to say no to his dick, and that was working in my favor.

"So what's the plan for tonight?" I asked, when Brian finally gave up on trying to toss me off. "Where's the rest of the gang?"

"Teddy doesn't do Liberty Avenue anymore," Emmett said wistfully. "He's still a little freaked about what happened. And Michael—"

"Michael is on a _date_," Brian said disgustedly.

"That's, um, terrible?" I said hesitantly.

"Fucking hell, of course it is! They haven't even fucked yet."

"Oh." Well. That _was_ terrible.

"Breeders and dykes go on dates," Brian said distastefully. "Fags _fuck_. Dr. Dave and Mikey are kidding themselves with this fucking dog-and-pony show."

"Fucking is more fun than dating, anyway," I agreed, while privately thinking that without Michael standing around, breathing down Brian's neck and shooting me dirty looks, I had a much better shot at convincing Brian to fuck me tonight.

Brian, clearly pleased with me, bit down on my ear and tugged.

I grinned and shifted on his lap, which made his cock jump again.

Oh, yeah.

This was gonna be easy.

ooo

"You know what I think I'd be good at?" I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

There was no response from Brian, who was sprawled face-down over the mattress. I knew he was awake. Brian never went to sleep with cum stains on his chest.

I ignored his lack of response and went on. "Road head."

"Mm." Brian's head didn't come up, so the noise was muffled. "Probably."

"Let's go test that theory," I suggested.

Brian slowly rolled over so that he was on his back. Eyes closed, he gestured down with two fingers. "Go for it."

Laughing, I leaned over and kissed him. "No, I mean in the car. While you're driving. That's what road head is, jerk."

Brian did not look thrilled with me, and I quickly leaned in for another kiss.

"It would be hot," I promised, kissing him twice more and then letting my tongue trail down his neck to his chest. I started licking at the dried cum that was spattered across it. "You on the beltway doing 75, wind roaring in your ears, my throat swallowing your cock..."

"Yeah. Until I crash the car."

"You wouldn't," I said confidently.

Brian snorted, looking down at me with vaguely incredulous expression. "Is that right?"

"Unless you want to tell me that my ability to give head renders you _that_ senseless."

"It might," Brian said, after a moment of consideration.

"But that's what would make it hot," I insisted, ignoring the burst of glee I felt at Brian's admission. I moved my tongue in circles around his right nipple, the cum long gone. "The risk. The thrill of not knowing."

"Except there would be no 'not knowing'." Brian sounded vaguely irritated now. "Because I _know_ that if you blow me while I drive, it isn't going to end well."

But I was determined. "I need to try it sometime. And you're the best driver I know—you wouldn't let us crash. Would you rather I tried it on Emmett?"

"I'd rather you didn't give Emmett _any_ kind of head."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what I—"

"Christ! Will you drop it already?" Brian snapped, jerking away. He started pushing himself out of bed. "The answer is no. It might be a new concept, and I'm sure your parents never say it to you, but when I say no? It means I'm not fucking doing it!"

I gave him a sullen look. My plan to be sneaky down the drain, I tried blunt honesty instead.

"I need a ride home."

"In the morning," Brian said shortly, heading for the bathroom.

"It can't wait until then!" I clambered out after him. "I have to be home before my father gets up at six."

And for the record, I was _not_ whining.

"What's Daddy gonna do if you're not home? Take away your trust fund? Be _really disappointed in you?_" Brian mocked. He was wetting a washcloth, and in the mirror, I could see his smirk.

That pissed me off.

"Fine. I'll just walk home," I decided. I marched back over to the bed and plucked my jeans off the ground.

"It's almost four in the morning."

"Well, you won't give me a ride." I shimmied into my jeans, thankful for the eighth time that night that I hadn't worn underwear, and then went for my shirt, which was on the complete opposite side of the bed. "And I've got to be home by six."

"Or what?" Brian asked.

"Or there'll be consequences," I snapped, thoughts of Luke suddenly springing up in my mind. Luke being taken away. Luke going up for adoption.

Shit, I really did have to get home.

I left the bedroom and walked over to the couch, where my jacket had been tossed when we'd first come into the loft. It would be a long walk home, but if I was fast, I could probably make it home on time. It was only a fifteen minute drive from the loft to the house, and that was with traffic, so if you figured an average speed of thirty-five miles per hour, that meant 8.75 miles, and if the average pedestrian walking speed was 4.25 miles per hour—

So I could probably make it. Under the assumption that the average walking speed was 4.25 miles per hour, because I was pulling that from a practice SAT problem I'd done a few days ago.

I was putting on my shoes when Brian suddenly spoke.

"For fuck's sake," he said loudly, stalking past me. He'd put on jeans. "You're not walking home."

I tried to suppress a tentative grin. "You're giving me a ride?"

"No." Brian plucked his wallet off the counter and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

I frowned.

He handed me the money. "Here. Go hail a cab."

"But—"

"It's a five minute walk to Babylon. There're always cabs waiting outside the club around this time."

"Or you could give me a ride," I said hopefully, flashing him a Sunshine smile. "I live, like, fifteen minutes away. And then you'll know where I live, so you can stalk me whenever you want."

"If I wanted to stalk you—which, for the record, I don't_—_I could look you up in the phone book."

"You don't know my father's name," I pointed out.

"Go hail a cab, little boy," Brian said patiently. "Go on. Get home before Daddy wakes up."

"You'll save thirty-nine dollars," I said, waving the money in his face.

"It only costs me a dollar to take you home?" Brian asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded. "Provided that your Jeep gets seventeen miles to the gallon, and the price of gas is..."

I trailed off at the expression on his face.

Right. Math was not cool.

"And I'll blow you at a stop sign," I threw in. "I'll blow you at _every_ stop sign."

Brian stared at me.

I held my breath.

And then he grabbed me by my hair and forced my down to me knees. "Suddenly, I'm seeing stop signs," he growled.

I bent my head down so that he wouldn't see my grin.

ooo

When Luke woke me up around eight, I found myself squished into my twin bed with Daphne, who was power-snoring in a way that made me pity her future husband. And children. And immediate neighbors. She was sleeping like the dead so I let her be and, after changing into a pair of cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt, took Luke to get him breakfast.

"I think Daddy's gonna take a morning nap, too," I told him as we descended the staircase. I'd slipped into the house around five. "Daddy didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Mom was, of course, already awake and doing the crossword puzzle. She offered morning pleasantries as I got Luke set up in his high chair. He got a handful of Cheerios while I started on his formula; Luke's coordination had been improving, and he was pretty good at feeding himself.

"So, where were you last night?" Mom asked.

I knew by her passive, would-be-casual tone that she was not happy with me. It was precisely why I had told Dad and not her.

"Out with some friends," I said lightly.

With the swipe of his hand, Luke sent half his Cheerios to the ground. He giggled.

I sighed. "See if I don't starve you to death, kid."

"Justin. You can't expect me to believe that, after twelve years, you've finally made a friend who isn't Daphne?"

Ouch.

"Does it matter what I was doing?" I asked, standing up and depositing the Cheerios into the trash can. The microwave dinged, and I went to get the formula.

"Were you with someone?" Mom pressed.

"Yes. Friends. I just told you that." I sat down next to Luke and offered the bottle.

Luke grabbed the bottle and started banging it vigorously. I quickly took it back and directed it to his mouth.

"I'm worried about you, Justin," Mom sighed, setting down her pen. "Even if you didn't have Luke, I'd be asking these questions. We used to be so close, and now I feel like I hardly know you!"

"It doesn't help that I'm shunned to my room whenever I'm home, does it?" I said moodily, watching Luke suck down his bottle. I wondered if giving head was a heritable trait, or if it was Mendelian. Or hell, maybe it wasn't genetic at all.

"I know your father hasn't made things easy for you..." Mom said haltingly.

I was silent, not taking my eyes off of Luke.

"I was thinking that maybe, if you talked to someone, it would help."

"A shrink?" I said disbelievingly.

"You've got to talk to someone, honey. It isn't healthy for you to be dealing with all this on your own."

"What, being a faggot?" I snapped. "Having a bastard child? Or having a total asshole for a father?"

Mom looked at me coolly. "Justin, I don't appreciate your attitude or your language. I'm only trying to help."

Luke, always aware of the emotional hue of the room, let the bottle fall and began to cry.

Then suddenly, Mom's eyes went behind me, and she pasted a smile on her face. "Good morning, Daphne."

"Morning, Mrs. Taylor," Daphne said politely, wandering into the kitchen in a sweater and shorts. She then, predictably, started cooing over the crying baby—trying to diffuse tension, no doubt. "What's the matter, Lukester? What's the matter with my Lukie Luke?"

"He's never going to learn his name if you keep mutating it," I said, for possibly the thousandth time.

"Is Daddy not feeding you right?" Daphne asked, taking the bottle from me. "Move over, Justin. The Lukinator wants his Auntie Daphne. Isn't that right? Yes, yes it is!"

Jesus Christ.

My son, ever the attention whore, was giggling and squealing at her words and happily took the bottle. I rolled my eyes and went to find the Lucky Charms.

But by the look on my mother's face, I knew that our conversation was far from over.


	4. Slip

**Breakneck**

**Chapter 4: Slip**

"So that was it—a blow job in the bathroom of some bar? You didn't get laid last night?" Daphne sounded crushed, as though it was her sex drive that had not been sated.

"Of course I did," I said impatiently. "If you'd shut the fuck up for ten seconds, you'd know that."

I could practically hear her roll her eyes. "You are such a brat."

"Well, if you don't wanna hear..."

"Shut up. You know I do."

I grinned. "So. When he went off into the backroom with that trick, I was like, 'Fuck you!' and I got my own. He was hot. Tall, dark curly hair, and that really nice golden skin tone that mixed race people have, you know?"

"Thanks," Daphne said dryly.

"Well, it was nice!" I said, a bit huffy with yet _another_ interruption. "You have beautiful cocoa skin, and if you were a guy, I would totally jerk off just thinking about the tones of your skin. Happy?"

"Delirious."

I ignored her. "So I fucked him in the backroom, and then I was dancing for, like, ever. This dude with a fez kept buying me drinks from across the bar, which was kind of creepy, but it was free alcohol so whatever. But then he came over and kept trying to feel me up, so I shoved him and I was about to leave when Brian put his hand on the back of my neck and was like, 'Running off so soon, Sunshine?'. And then he took me back to the loft, and we fucked."

"How was it?"

"Amazing, of course," I said obviously. "I think he was still a little freaked about last time, because he rimmed me for, like, an hour before he actually put his dick in. And he was kind of gentle, too. Then I got him to give me a ride—"

I stopped as the door swung open and Mom poked her head in.

"—and I can get you my notes on the lecture on Monday," I went on smoothly, although Mom did not look impressed so she probably wasn't fooled. "But I really don't know what else to tell you. Maybe you can talk to him after class?"

"Your mom there?" Daphne sounded amused.

"Yeah," I said. "You should be fine."

"Right. I'll call back tonight."

"See you."

Daphne hung up, and I put the phone down to face Mom.

"Luke still asleep?" she asked, her eyes going up to the ceiling where Luke was taking his afternoon nap up in my room.

I nodded.

She sat down in the seat across from me. I'd taken up residence behind my father's desk for my conversation with Daphne because it was the only room in the house that was downstairs and had a door, besides the bathroom. I was lucky that Dad was in afternoon meetings with some big shot from Japan, otherwise I would've been having my conversation on the toilet.

Sitting behind Dad's desk, I had a vague sense of empowerment. I felt a little better about the impending discussion.

"So," Mom said, looking at me as though she were waiting for me to begin.

Why not?

"I'm a faggot," I said bluntly. "A cocksucker. A fudge-packer. I like to take it up the ass and I give a hell of a blowjob. Is that what you want to hear?"

Her expression was inscrutable for a long moment, and then she slowly exhaled. "Of course it isn't what I want to hear. I'm your mother."

I stared, keeping my face impassive. I wasn't sure if it was a rejection, and didn't know what to say. No mother wanted to hear that her child was gay, or that her child gave really fucking good head?

"It's just such a surprise," she said, almost pleadingly.

Pleading for it to not be true?

"You never suspected?" I demanded. "You never even thought?"

She frowned. "Well, I did, until Sara, and then I was just so..."

"Relieved?" I challenged.

"Busy worrying about other things." She had a pointed look on her face, which usually meant that she thought I was out of line. "I just let the whole idea drop from my mind."

But what about now? Would she let it drop now, ignore me, shove me back into the closet because she couldn't deal?

"Well, it's time to pull it back out," I said, rather snottily, when she didn't say anything more. "I'm queer. And I'm not going to fucking change, even if you hate me for it."

Mom exhaled again, her eyes bright. "Oh, Justin. I could never hate you. You're my son, and I love you no matter what."

Tangible relief.

She still loved me.

"Really?" My voice cracked a little.

Mom reached across the desk and put her hand over mine. "Yes. Really."

My throat tightened, and I had to work to keep myself under control. But—but Mom was okay with it. She was okay with _me_.

"I'm not saying that I don't need to adjust to the idea," she said slowly. "But if that's what you are, Justin, then... Okay."

"Okay?"

She squeezed my hand, smiling. "Okay."

Relief was still pounding in my veins, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to absorb everything that I was feeling so that it would die down a little bit.

"So, tell me about this Brian of yours," Mom said, making me open my eyes in surprise. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Thank god for motherly distraction tactics.

"Um. Sort of," I said, hoping that she wouldn't press for details.

"Were you with him last night?" she asked.

I nodded. "Are you gonna tell Dad?"

A moment's pause.

"He should know," Mom said at last.

I felt a spike of fear, and the last vestiges of relief were sucked out of me in seconds. "He doesn't need to know. He can't know. He _can't_."

"He's your father."

"He'll use it as an excuse to take Luke away! You know he will!"

Mom remained passive in the face of my yelling. "Justin, I can't keep something like this from him. It's not right."

"And it's not right, the way he's been treating me, but you let him get away with _that_," I hissed.

Mom winced. "I hardly think—"

"You can't tell him."

She stared at me, visibly torn.

"You can't."

"All right," she finally conceded, not sounding happy. "I won't say anything."

I fell back into the chair, closing my eyes and letting out a huge breath of air. "Thank you. _Thank you._ You're the best mom ever."

She sighed. "So says my coffee mug."

Molly and I had bought it for her three years ago. I really couldn't believe that she still used it, but every morning without fail, she had it on the table.

Mom rose from her chair, brushing herself off. "Now, I have laundry to fold, and _you_ have homework to do. Upstairs with you."

I held in a groan, thinking about the agony of William Falkner, and the extensive chapter summaries that I now owed Daphne. But the hug and the kiss on the cheek Mom gave me on my way out of the office made me feel a little bit better about it all.

ooo

A while later, I was laying on my bed and reading Addie's whining about how having children had violated her 'aloneness' and thinking she was the most irritating character ever. Luke was awake but entertaining himself in his crib—he kept pulling himself up to a standing position, clutching the bars on the crib, and then sitting back down. Up and down, up and down, up and down, for almost twenty minutes.

But when my father opened the door, any feelings of peace or contentment I might have been languishing in vanished.

"What?" I asked.

Had Mom told him? Did he know?

"We're having company tomorrow afternoon," Dad said.

I was relieved, until his words sunk in, and then I was suspicious.

Dad's eyes went to Luke, who was now sitting and staring at him with interest. "You're welcome to join us, if you can find a babysitter."

My eyes narrowed. "And if I can't? Why isn't Luke allowed to come? It's not like it's some huge secret that I knocked up some girl at school last year."

"They don't know that you've been taking care of him," Dad said evenly.

I shut my book and sat up on the bed. "You can't hide him forever. Mr. Anderson's been gone for more than three weeks, now. He's not coming back. Luke is here to stay, Dad."

"They don't know that," Dad replied readily.

"Of course," I sneered. "Mr. Anderson never bothered with the country club, did he? Why should they care about him? Just let them assume that he's dealt with the death of his only child, and is happily raising his grandson in her place."

"This gathering is no place for a baby," Dad said calmly, as non-reactive to my anger as Mom. "If you can't find a babysitter, then you'll have to watch him yourself. In your room."

And then he turned to leave.

"You can't keep us locked up forever!" I yelled after him, furious. "Eventually, everyone's gonna find out that your son is raising his bastard child in your house!"

He shut my door with a click.

I stared at the closed door, flexing my fists and positively steaming with anger. He thought he could keep us hidden? What were we, his dirty little secret? I was his son! I was supposed to be a hell of a lot more important than his goddamn social standing at the motherfucking country club.

Luke let out a string of nervous babble, and my train of thought was derailed.

"Shit," I muttered, closing my eyes.

More baby babble.

I opened my eyes, standing up and walking over to his crib. "It's all right," I told him, running a hand over his soft blonde hair. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry I keep getting angry when you're around—hopefully, I'll learn to stop doing that before you're old enough to be psychologically traumatized by it, right?"

Luke gave me a drool-filled smile, and then babbled a bit more.

ooo

I appealed to my mother about my banishment, but she was merely sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Justin, but your father's right. It's no place for a baby. Anyway, it's only the Silvermans and the Kubuskos—you don't even like them very much."

"That isn't the point!" I said furiously. "I'm not a _prisoner_. He can't just hide me and Luke whenever someone comes over. Mr. Anderson isn't coming back, and Luke is here. Permanently"

"Honey, the people that are coming over tomorrow? They agree with your father. They think that you should put Luke up for adoption, and they've been pushing for that idea ever since they heard about the situation." She patted my arm. "Your father's just trying to protect you."

"Bullshit!"

"Justin."

"Well, it is. And you know it. The only thing he's protecting is his reputation. What's he going to do if he finds out that I'm gay? Are you gonna let him try to beat the gayness out of me, because he's 'protecting me'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. Look at it this way: Do you want to expose Luke to the Silvermans and Kubuskos? People who would rather see him shipped off to an infertile couple in Lower Manhattan?"

"That's not the point," I said through clenched teeth.

"Well, it may not be your point, but it's a good one nevertheless."

I wasn't getting anywhere.

"Thanks for nothing, Mom," I snapped as I stormed out of the room.

ooo

Late Sunday afternoon found me holed up in my room with Luke while the party went on downstairs. I had been hoping that Luke would be unusually fussy today so that his cries would be heard throughout the house, forcing my father to tell everyone about us, but Luke was in a good mood. Generally, as long as I wasn't losing my temper, he was a pretty happy kid.

Currently, I was reading to him from _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. The parallel of the situations could not be ignored.

"No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

I paused, looking up to see Luke clinging to the leg of his crib, standing on shaky feet.

"You know this makes you Dobby, right?" I asked him. "The loud, obnoxious elf who couldn't give a rat's ass that there's company downstairs?"

Luke let go of the pole and fell on his diaper-cushioned butt, and then giggled.

"You're supposed to try to stay upright, dude," I informed him, reaching over and tickling his belly a little. "You're not supposed to like falling down. That's the bad part."

Luke giggled some more, grabbing onto one of my hands with both of his and raising it up. Then over. Then down a little.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching as he played with my hand a bit more before finally pushing it all the way away from his body. Then, apparently, satisfied, he turned his attention back to the leg on his crib.

He was fuckin' adorable, as Debbie would say. How could Dad want to hide him?

"Fuck that," I said, my mind suddenly made up.

I shut _Harry Potter_ and shoved it off to the side, pushing myself up off the ground. Luke had pulled himself up again on the leg of the crib, and I caught him just as he let go.

"C'mon, dude," I said, grabbing his stuffed hippo before heading for the door. "We're done hiding up here, making no noise and pretending we don't exist. Harry didn't do it, and neither will we."

Luke grabbed the hippo and shoved one of the legs into his mouth, making happy noises around it and drooling a little. He had been drooling more than usual in the last two days.

"Do you have another tooth coming in?" I asked him as we headed down the stairs. From the sounds I was hearing, everyone was in the front sitting room. "You haven't been cranky, and you drove your Mom crazy when you got your first two. I'll stick your ring in the freezer just in case, okay?"

Luke continued to chew on the leg.

I wandered into the kitchen, keeping up my one-sided conversation. The kitchen led directly into the living room, which was connected to the sitting room. They wouldn't be able to see me, but they would hear me.

No doubt they were staying away from the kitchen so they wouldn't see the high chair in the corner. I scowled.

"It's almost dinner time for you, isn't it?" I asked sweetly. "Yes it is. How about some red lentils? And some peas and carrots?"

I dragged the high chair over to the kitchen table, letting the rubber legs drag on the floor loudly. After all, I only had one hand free. I couldn't help it.

In the sitting room, conversation was at a pause.

I set Luke in the high chair, and he immediately threw his hippo to the ground and then delighted as I picked it up.

"I'll give you a banana first," I told him. "You can eat that while I warm up the rest of your dinner, okay?"

I heard my mother say something quietly, and my father muttered something.

I set to work on the banana.

Seconds later, Dad stomped into the kitchen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his face a funny shade of red. "I told you to—"

"Stay up in my room, make no noise and pretend not to exist," I interrupted calmly, slicing the banana. "I know. But Luke was hungry. Was I supposed to let him starve?"

Dad stared at me, clearly struggling not to shout because there were people in the next room. He was pissed. Royally pissed.

"What did you tell them?" I asked, setting the banana slices in front of Luke. "I was babysitting someone else's kid?"

"Go to your room," he said in a low voice. "Now."

"Luke needs his dinner."

Dad intercepted me on my way to the cupboard, grabbing my arm and shaking me. "You get your ass upstairs, _now_, or I will—"

"Craig?" Mom called quietly, wandering in. Her eyes widened. "What are you doing? Let him go!"

Dad released me roughly, and I stumbled back a step.

I raised my head and spoke before Dad could cut me off. "I was feeding Luke his dinner. He was hungry."

Mom looked between us, giving me a vaguely exasperated look. She knew that I'd done this on purpose, and she wasn't amused.

"Jennifer? What's wro—"

And then Mrs. Silverman froze, staring at Luke.

The secret was out.

ooo

Dad waited until the door had shut behind the Silvermans and Kubuskos before turning on me.

"I told you to stay in your _goddamn room!_"

Luke burst into tears.

I swallowed, pulling my resolve together. "You can't hide me, Dad. I won't let you."

"As long as you live under this roof, you will respect me. You _will_ listen to me. You are living in my house, eating the food that I put on the table, going to the school that I pay for, and I will not have you embarrassing me!"

I rocketed to my feet. "He's not an embarrassment! He's a child! He's _my_ child!"

Luke wailed, and I abruptly realized how tightly I was holding him.

Mom tried to approach me. "Justin, why don't you—"

"Fuck off," I snapped, jerking away.

"Apologize to your mother," Dad growled.

I clutched Luke tighter to me, ignoring his squalling. "No. No, you know what? Both of you can fuck off! Fucking _fuck off_ already! You put your motherfucking party over your grandson, so FUCK OFF!"

I screamed the last words so loudly my throat hurt, and my eyes swam with tears. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand to be in the same room as them anymore.

I took the stairs two at a time, Luke still screaming in my arms.

ooo

"They fought for, like, an hour last night," I told Daphne as she shuffled through her locker for her history notebook. "And Molly was being a total brat. She stuck her head in my room and was all like, 'I hope you're happy with yourself. _I_ never make them fight.'"

"Well, did you think they'd be happy with you after ruining their party?" Daphne asked.

I frowned. "Well, no. But I didn't do it to make them fight—I just want my father to acknowledge that Luke exists for a change!"

"It was pretty shitty of him," Daphne agreed. There was a thump from her locker as something fell from the top shelf, and she swore.

"I think he's secretly Uncle Vernon, from the second Harry Potter book."

Daphne brought her head out, staring at me. "Oh my God. You are such a _dork_."

I swatted her arm. "Shut up, you know it's true. I was reading it to Luke last night—he's totally Dobby the House Elf."

"Oh my God," Daphne groaned. She finally pulled out her history notebook and slammed her locker shut. "I don't know you. Walk behind me."

Grinning, I slung an arm over her shoulders. "You know you love me."

Daphne grumbled.

"Anyway. So does that offer about measuring your plants for you this week still stand?"

She glanced at me. "You're allowed to go out? Aren't you, like, grounded?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging. "I mean, how can they ground me? I spend all my time at home with Luke anyway. Besides, fuck that. I want to see Brian again."

"I totally cannot believe that your mom is okay with you dating him," Daphne said, making a face.

"We're not dating," I said automatically.

Daphne waved a hand. "Fucking. Whatever. He's so old!"

"He's only twenty-nine. And my mother doesn't know that—I think she thinks he's my age or something."

"You really think that she's gonna keep it a secret from your dad?" Daphne asked, lowering her voice as we headed into the classroom.

I opened my mouth to respond when suddenly my balance was thrown and I went sprawling forward, my backpack lurching up and slamming into the back of my head.

"Justin!" Daphne squealed, down by my side in an instant.

I glanced up and saw Chris Hobbs standing above me, smirking. "Walk much, twinkle-toes?"

"Fuck off," I muttered, picking myself up.

"What an asshole," Daphne said as she followed me to the back of the room. "He didn't used to be so mean to you."

I decided not to mention that his sudden aggression towards me was probably related to the fact that I'd jerked him off in the storage room a few weeks ago. That had been a mistake, and now I was paying for it. Chris Hobbs would lay off me after a while.

ooo

Life consisted of school and Luke for the next few days. Dad was still steaming over Sunday and refused to speak to me, and while Mom wasn't too upset with me, she did tend to sigh and then leave the room whenever I dared to leave my bedroom. Dinners were silent, with the exception of Molly's incessant chattering and Luke's babbling. School was a bit better, with the exception of Chris Hobbs & Co. But the only truly bright spots in my life were Luke, Daphne, and the thought of seeing Brian again on Friday.

By Thursday morning, I was miserable. And I looked bad enough that Daphne took one look at me and said, "You look like shit. We're sneaking out after third period and going downtown."

We'd never skipped school before, and I was surprised at how easy it was.

"We have got to do this more often!" I said, swallowing the last of the hotdog I'd bought from a street vendor. "Why didn't I think of this?"

"Um, because if we get caught, we'll be in sooooo much trouble?" Daphne suggested.

I rolled my eyes. "Please. We snuck into a club with a fake ID, while underage, and appropriated alcohol. What's a few school rules next to that?"

"This place looks so different during the day," Daphne said as we strolled past Woody's, changing the subject.

In the daylight, Liberty Avenue did look a lot different. Not in a bad way. It almost felt like a little gay utopia, with queers strolling down the streets carrying grocery bags, arguing over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, comparing notes on new condom brands... I noticed for the first time that there were hanging baskets of ivy hung from a few lampposts.

"Yeah," I said belatedly. "I don't feel obligated to get horny just by standing here."

Daphne smacked my arm, giggling. "Ew!"

I was about to smack her back when a blonde head caught my eyes. "Hey! It's one of Brian's lesbians!"

"What, does he keep them in a tank?" Daphne asked, but I was already running to catch up with her.

"Hey—hey!" I called.

Lindsay stopped, turning around to look at me in confusion. She was pushing a stroller, which presumably contained Gus.

"Hi!" I said brightly as Daphne came to a stop beside me.

Lindsay frowned. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm Justin. I was with Brian the night Gus was born? And, um, I named him?"

"Yeah..." she said, giving me a funny look. Probably wondering why the hell that entitled me to stop her on the street.

"I, um..." I cast about for an excuse, before noticing what she was carrying. "You looked like you could use a hand. It's got to be hard to push the stroller and carry all those... are those portfolios?"

"Yes, they are," Lindsay said, sounding surprised that I knew that. She smiled at me. "I was just on my way to the Gay and Lesbian Center. I'd be happy to have help, although it's just up this block."

I grabbed three of the enormous portfolios.

"This is my friend Daphne, by the way," I said as I passed one of the heavy bags off to her.

Daphne waved. "Hi. Um. I'm not a lesbian. But I'm a big fan!"

Lindsay paused, apparently not sure what to say to that.

"So what are these for?" I asked, hefting them over my shoulder, where they banged against my backpack. We started walking again.

"The GLC is having an art show next week," Lindsay answered. "I'm going to have to sort through all of this and decide whose art will be going up, and Mel was a bit tired of not being able to sit down on the couch."

"Justin's an artist, too, you know," Daphne said.

Lindsay looked at me, her eyebrows going up. "Are you really?"

I shrugged. "I'm pretty good."

"And modest," Lindsay laughed.

"Justin, you should enter the art show!" Daphne said excitedly. "Is it too late to enter?"

"I could take a look at your work, if you'd like," Lindsay offered to me. "If it's good enough, I'll take a few late submissions."

She stopped and turned, and I found myself at the GLC. It was a larger building, a little run-down, but this was partially hidden by the posters that were plastered on the outside of the building, advertising things like free anonymous HIV testing, an LGTBQ picnic, and an all-male production of Sweet Charity that would be going up next month.

"I've got my sketchbook with me," I said. "I'll show it to you when we set this stuff down."

I wasn't even sure that I could make the art show, but the idea of my work being displayed—maybe even bought, if it was that kind of show—it made me excited. Since quitting art club, I'd been isolated from the world of art.

The portfolios went in a backroom of the GLC, up against a desk. From the stroller, Gus began to fuss a little, and Lindsay unbuckled him. I shrugged off my backpack and went for my sketchbook.

"I'll trade you," I said, offering her the sketchbook.

Lindsay looked a little doubtful, but held out Gus anyway. "Just make sure you get the back of his—yeah, like that. Good." She smiled at me. "You're a natural!"

"Something like that," I said, holding Gus in the same way that I'd held Luke in the first few months of his life. I grinned down at the baby, who was staring at me with wide eyes and an apprehensive expression. "Hey there," I said softly. "I'm Justin."

Gus blinked a few times, and then decided not to start crying, to my great relief. I focused on Lindsay, who was flipping through my sketchbook.

There was a running competition between Brian and Luke for the Most Sketched Subject award, and I watched as Lindsay flipped through pages filled with images of both of them. Luke, Luke, Brian, Luke, Brian naked, Brian's face mid-orgasm, Luke, Brian... And then there was Sara. Dead Sara. Cal's face, awash in grief and shock. Cal's retreating back down the hallway of the hospital.

Lindsay stopped at that one.

"These are incredible, Justin," she said, glancing up at me. "This one in particular. The slump of his shoulders, the shading from the lights... You captured something raw here."

I nodded. "Yeah."

She turned the page, revealing an experiment I'd done two weeks ago in abstractions of hands. Lindsay paused at that, too.

"I was, uh... That was new," I said haltingly.

"It's not bad for a first attempt," Lindsay said, turning it horizontally. "You might try the same idea, but maybe with color?"

I frowned. "Maybe."

Lindsay looked at it a moment longer, and then shut the sketchbook. "Get me your submissions by Saturday morning, and you're in. You're very talented, Justin."

"Thanks," I said, grinning.

"Are you an artist, too?" Daphne asked.

"A failed one, I'm afraid," Lindsay said, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm just an art teacher, now. And speaking of school, shouldn't you two be in class? Aren't you still in high school?"

"Senior skip day," I lied promptly.

Daphne quickly nodded in agreement.

Lindsay laughed. "Oh, now that brings back memories. God. High school."

Gus started to fuss in my arms, and I instinctively adjusted my grip, rocking him a little and making shushing noises.

"I can take him," Lindsay offered, arms held out.

He was quiet again, but I handed him back over anyway.

"Will Brian be at the show?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

"He holds a certain... contempt for the GLC," Lindsay said carefully.

I frowned. "Why?"

She shrugged. "He calls it, 'the place where fags go when they can't get laid'. He... doesn't do community. But I'll see what I can do. Mel and I will definitely be there—we're on the board for the center."

"Cool," I said. "So, um, do you need anything else?"

"Well, Gus and I are on our way to the pediatrician, so I think we'll have to brave that alone. But thanks for the offer." Lindsay gave me a smile. Despite the obvious country club manners that had been ingrained in her as they had in Daphne and I, she seemed to really mean it. I decided that I liked Lindsay.

"Anytime," I said.

"It was nice meeting you," Daphne added.

And so Lindsay said goodbye, and Daphne and I were left to decide what to do with the two hours of freedom we had left before I had to get back home. Suddenly feeling inspired, I wanted to go to the art supply store and get new pencils. Daphne said that I had enough pencils to build a birdcage already, and that she wanted to go to a tattoo parlor where a decent fake ID operation was apparently in business in the backroom. She began forcibly dragging me in the direction of the parlor as soon as we were out of the GLC.

Oh, well. I needed a fake ID more than pencils, anyway.


	5. Cling

**Breakneck**

**Chapter 5: Cling**

When I got home from school on Friday afternoon, my mother did not immediately pass Luke off to me and then disappear into the kitchen, as she had been doing all week. She sat on the couch, waiting for me, while Luke played his stand-and-fall game with the leg of the coffee table. He was giggling to himself.

I hesitantly dropped my backpack to the ground. What did she want?

"There's a message for you on the answering machine," Mom said, her voice not giving anything away.

My stomach swooped. Fuck. What could it be? Obviously, no one was sick or dying, because she would have told me that right off the bat. Had the school left a message about my cutting school yesterday? Had Daphne's parents called about something? Had Brian called? Debbie?

I made my way over to the answering machine and pressed play.

"Message one, left at 9:32 am, Friday." A beep. "Hi, this is Lindsay Peterson calling for Justin. Justin, I just wanted to let you know that I'm actually going to need your entries for the art show by noon on Saturday. We'll be setting up on Sunday, but if you can't make it, just attach an index card with the title of each piece, your name, the medium, and when the piece was created, and I'll take care of it. If you have questions, call me at (412) 555-3901. Thanks!"

Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad.

I turned around to face my mother, who was raising an eyebrow at me.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in an art show, Justin?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

_That_ was what she was pissed about?

"You haven't exactly been speaking to me," I said brattily. "And anyway, it's at the GLC—that's the _Gay _and_ Lesbian_ Center—so, you know, there's gonna be a bunch of fags there. I didn't think you'd want to come."

She sighed.

Luke let go of the leg and fell back on his butt, giggling madly. I was waiting for the day that he let go, went rolling back, and hit his head on something.

"I'm sorry for the way that I've been acting this week," Mom said finally, her face open and honest. "I was trying to gain a little clarity for myself, and in the process, I was hurting you. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't," I said stiffly.

"But I still love you," she went on. "And I want to support you. Being in an art show is something that you should be proud of. It's an accomplishment. I want you to share your accomplishments with me, Justin. I want to be proud of you."

"And I haven't given you much to be proud of lately, have I?" I asked, the sarcasm practically dripping.

Her lips thinned. "No, you haven't. I'm not going to coddle you and tell you what a mature, responsible person you've been lately, because it's not true."

She was so frank, and so calm. It pissed me off.

"Sara's death was a tragedy, but the way you've been handling it..." Mom looked pained. "Going off with your boyfriend, completely disregarding your father, treating me with next to no respect..."

"And what do you want me to do?" I demanded through clenched teeth. "Stay home all the time with Luke? Hide out in my bedroom like the embarrassment I am? Suddenly turn _straight_ so that I don't have to be afraid of my own family hating me?"

"Of course not!" Mom exclaimed, standing and crossing over to me. "Neither your father nor I want that for you. But honey, you have to admit—"

"No," I snapped, jerking away. "_You_ have to admit that you don't know what you're doing. One moment you're siding with Dad, and the next you're sneaking behind his back, and then you're telling me that he's actually right! So don't yell at me! At least I know whose side I'm on."

"Justin..."

"Daphne's coming over to watch Luke tonight," I said, leaving her to pick up Luke. "I'm sorry if that makes me a bad father and an immature brat in your eyes, but I need one night a week where I'm not trapped in a house with people who fucking hate me."

ooo

Five hours later, I cornered Brian at Woody's.

"I need a favor," I said, sitting on the edge of the pool table.

Brian was playing against himself tonight. Apparently, Michael was still seeing Dr. Dave, and Brian was hurting for pool partners.

"Get in line," Brian said curtly, lining up his shot.

I rolled my eyes. "Not a sexual favor. A _favor-_favor."

"And what the fuck is a favor-favor?" Brian asked, glancing up with raised eyebrows.

I gestured for him to take his shot, and he did. Two striped balls fell into the left corner pocket, and the cue ball did a wobbly spin off to the right.

"I need you to get this to Lindsay before noon," I told him, plunking down the large manila envelope.

Brian picked it up with two fingers, holding it as though it might bite him and give him rabies. "And why, pray tell, are you corresponding with the munchers?"

"Lindsay suggested that I submit some pieces for the art show at the GLC. I have to get them to her by tomorrow at noon."

Brian looked interested. Or rather, his eyebrow twitched, which I took to be a sign of intense interest.

"It's on Tuesday at eight," I added offhandedly. "Lindsay said I'm for sure going to be in it. She says my work is incredible."

"Keep up that attitude and you'll never need an agent to sell your shit for you."

"Will you be there?" I asked, unable to help myself.

Brian glanced at me, and then he dropped the envelope on the pool table it. "No. The GLC makes me feel itchy."

Asshole.

"That's just the crabs acting up again, not the GLC," I sniped, glaring at the cue ball.

I realized Brian was staring at me a moment later.

Suddenly a bit self-conscious, I shrugged. "What? People get a little spiteful when you turn them down."

Brian smirked. "Been picking up my leftovers, Sunshine?"

"It's hard to find someone who _isn't_ your leftovers," I shot back, scowling at him.

Brian grinned. "Oh, look. The kitten has claws."

"Will you give these to Lindsay?" I asked, holding up the envelope again.

"Whatever," Brian said, focusing on the pool table again.

I grinned, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you."

He grunted. "My car's parked on the opposite side of the street. Go slide it under the front seat."

I grabbed the envelope and bounded out of Woody's, unable to stop grinning. I couldn't wait to get back into Woody's and thank him in a way that he'd appreciate, not just some stupid kiss on the cheek.

But when I returned, Brian had gone, and I didn't see him the rest of the night.

ooo

"So, what do I need to do for you in order to get you to babysit for me on Tuesday night?" I asked Daphne the following morning.

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I'm the one that got you into this show, I think I'm entitled to see what my efforts have gotten you. Have your mom watch him."

"Please?" I begged. "Mom has a PTA meeting at Molly's school, and it's election night or something, so she'll be there all night. And I won't let Dad watch Luke. There's no way."

"Well, you're right about that," Daphne said. She looked around and then leaned in, lowering her voice. "He was a total _dick_ last night when I tried to play with Luke in the living room. I know I should have just stayed in your room like you said, but it just isn't right to coop him up like that. I felt bad."

She gave Luke a sympathetic look, but then wrinkled her nose.

"You need to learn how to eat, mister," she informed him, using his bib to wipe at the banana mush all over his face.

Luke whined and tried to twist his face away, but Daphne got him clean before he started crying.

"At least he's sticking to his beliefs," I said bitterly. "He thinks Luke should go away and never be thought of again, and that's the end. Mom's just been all over the place."

Daphne frowned. "But she's been totally cool with you being... you know." She made a few limp-wristed movements with her hand.

"I know," I said, frustrated. "I think—I mean, being gay is something that I am. She doesn't understand it, but she knows it's who I am. That I didn't choose it. Well, mostly. I think I set her straight on that. But getting a girl pregnant? That was a choice, a stupid one, and she can't defend it. I think that's what she's wrestling with. She can't stand up to my father when I was the one who did wrong in the first place, but she still kind of wants to."

"Okay," said Daphne slowly.

"Did that make any sense at all?" I asked.

She shrugged. "A little. The point is, if you want me to miss your debut as an artist, it's going to cost you. Big time."

I was wary. "What do you want?"

"You're going to pay for my fake ID," Daphne said.

I almost fell out of my chair. "That's a hundred dollars!"

"And I'll babysit the next four Friday nights," Daphne said, relenting a little.

My scowl was all the answer she needed.

"Yes!" she cried, punching her fist into the air.

"There's a word for this, you know," I muttered.

"Generosity?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'exploitation', 'profiteering' and 'price gouging'."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "What_ever_. The guy at the tattoo parlor said they'd be ready by Wednesday. We can make an outing out of it—and Luke can come! And then we can go out for ice cream. Can Luke have ice cream yet?"

I shook my head. "Nope. He has yogurt with lunch sometimes, but that's about all he can take. You're not supposed to make dairy a main part of a baby's diet until they're at least twelve months old, and it should always be done after you've consulted with the baby's pediatrician."

"Are you quoting something, or do you just naturally speak like a textbook sometimes?" Daphne asked.

I grinned, shrugged. "Brian calls me his little public service announcement."

"How affectionate," Daphne said dryly.

"Yeah, well, he calls me his little stalker," I said, rolling my eyes. "_And_ he didn't fuck me last night."

"Oh, the humanity."

I shoved her. "Bitch. There is _no one_ that fucks like Brian Kinney does. It's his fault I have ridiculously high standards, now. I don't think I'll ever be sated again."

"This is my sympathetic face," Daphne deadpanned.

"You're the one who lives vicariously through my sex life," I told her. "Go off to some gross breeder bar and get laid, yourself."

"Gross breeder bar?" Daphne echoed.

I nodded.

She gave me a look. "You know, just because Brain says it, doesn't mean you have to repeat it."

"Well, they are gross," I said indignantly, even though I knew that wasn't what she was getting at. "Fat old men talking about football and pussy, and girls with tramp stamps hanging out? Ew."

"Oh, _that's_ what that thing above my ass is?" Daphne asked coolly. "Thanks for letting me know. I was wondering why that was there."

Oh. Oops.

"Daph, no! You're not a breeder," I assured her quickly. "You're different. Breeders are... they're..." I floundered for words, unable to explain what a breeder was. Brian had never explicitly told me. I just knew that it was_not_ Daphne. "You're not."

Daphne sighed a little bit, looking at me almost sadly. "Justin, does Brian really hate straight people? All of them?"

I thought about it. "Yeah. More or less. Maybe not Debbie, but she's practically a gay man anyway."

"Well, _you_ shouldn't," Daphne decided. Her expression was completely serious. "You sound like my Uncle Lenny—you know, the one who hates white people so much? Yells at my parents all the time for not sending me to an all-black high school, keeps sending me brochures for Howard University?"

I winced. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

She studied me for a moment. "All right. I forgive you. Especially since you're buying me a fake ID and everything!"

I buried my head in my hands. "I have shallow friends."

"Don't be silly, Justin," Daphne said, patting me on the back. "You don't have more than one friend. No need to pluralize."

ooo

I did miss Daphne at the art show, though—I needed someone to take my mind off of the fact that Brian hadn't shown up yet. Not that I was expecting him to. But I was still hopeful. And anyway, the only people I knew there were Melanie and Lindsay, who were bent on getting me a boyfriend my own age.

The problem with a boy my own age, besides the fact that he wouldn't be Brian, was that I had a kid. And no teenager wanted to date someone with a kid. At least with Brian, things were fucked up enough that I couldn't even think of our future together beyond the Friday nights that I was able to escape the house. I never had to worry about Brian finding out about Luke, because it wouldn't happen. We were never going to get to that point.

Like I'd known that night in the hospital, in the men's room—Brian didn't love me. He never would. I just had to hold on like hell to whatever I had.

"Everyone loves your drawings," Lindsay was telling me.

I grinned. That, at least, was true. There had been a steady stream of people past my stuff all night.

"Have you checked out the food?" Melanie asked, pointing over to the buffet table.

"I'm not hungry," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay, how about the cute boys?" Melanie asked.

I worked hard not to close my eyes and groan. It was the third mention of the 'cute boys' tonight.

"There's some right over there," Melanie went on, pointing across the room. "Just about your age."

But then I felt him.

I swear to God, I felt him before I saw him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a low current of energy suddenly began thrumming in my veins.

"He's here," I said, just as my eyes locked onto his figure coming through the door.

Brian had come. He'd come!

"Mm," said Melanie, unenthusiastically. "Yippie."

Despite the fact that I'd been waiting _all night_ for Brian to walk through those doors, I maintained my post by my art as Lindsay and Melanie wandered off. I watched Lindsay kiss Brian on the cheek, and then I watched Brian practically run away as Michael and some mammoth Adonis approached. I assumed the mammoth Adonis was actually the Dr. Dave that Brian had been bitching about for the last few weeks.

I casually made my way over to the champagne table.

Moments later, a familiar voice was drawling in my ear.

"Well, if it isn't the famous artist?"

I turned to him, grinning. "Did you see my stuff?"

Brian smirked. "No. I had to get a drink first."

"You didn't take it out for a peek on Friday?" I asked. I had a feeling it was something he would do.

"And why," Brian asked, in a slow, condescending drawl, "would I do that?"

"Because you knew there'd be at least one sketch of you in there," I shot back without missing a beat.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is there really?"

"The one titled 'Cock of the Walk'," I said cheekily. "It's over there. If you're interested."

"Suddenly, I think I am," Brian said, giving my ass a parting squeeze before heading off in the direction of my art.

It did not escape my notice that this was also where Michael was standing. But I'd take what I could get.

Unfortunately, that was when I discovered my mother.

"I thought you were at Molly's PTA meeting!" I hissed, dragging her off to the side.

She eyed the glass of champagne in my hand, but thankfully decided to focus on the bigger issue at hand. "Well, I skipped it. It's just a PTA meeting, Justin—this is your first real art show!"

"If I'd known you could skip it, I'd have asked you to watch Luke! Do you know what I had to do to get Daphne to watch him tonight?"

"You couldn't have brought him with you?" Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.

I shifted guiltily. "It's not really an appropriate event for a baby."

"Does your Brian know you have a child?" Mom pressed. "Is he here tonight?"

"Look," I said, draining the last of my champagne. "The point is, you can't be here. You have to leave."

I tried to give her a nudge towards the door, but she shook me off. "Justin, I'm not here to embarrass you. I just want to see your work on display!"

"Oh, _now_ you want to see me on display?" I said with a sharp laugh. "Now it's okay for me to come out of my room?"

"Justin, do not do this here," Mom warned.

"What? Embarrass you in public? I think it's too late for that."

Mom opened her mouth to say something when suddenly Lindsay's voice cut into the conversation.

"Justin, is this your mother?"

I forced a smile for Lindsay and Melanie.

"Hi," Mom said, holding out her hand. "I'm Jennifer."

Lindsay and Melanie introduced themselves and Lindsay praised my work, but it wasn't long before my mother very pointedly mentioned the baby in Lindsay's arms.

"And what a beautiful baby," she said, glancing at me only for a second before returning her attention to Gus. "Has he been all right for you, at such a formal event?"

You are so not subtle, Mom.

Lindsay smiled. "He's been an absolute angel. GLC events are open to anyone who supports us, regardless of age."

"Although technically, we're supporting him," Melanie said, grinning.

"At least until we're old and saggy," Lindsay agreed, turning to Melanie with a matching smile. "Then he'll have to pay for our rest home."

They shared a kiss.

I think it was only years of country club training that kept my mother's eyebrows in place. Personally, I was beginning to understand Brian's penchant for flaunting himself in front of straights.

"Sorry," Lindsay said, turning back to my mother with an even wider smile on her face.

My mother smiled, with a little effort. "That's okay. What's his name?"

"Gus," Lindsay said fondly.

"Actually," Melanie said, "Justin's the one who named him."

"Really?" Mom said. She glanced at me.

Oh no.

"That was his teddy bear's name!"

I wanted to die on the spot. My only consolation was that Brian was nowhere in the vicinity.

Lindsay and Melanie thought this was adorable, of course, and I endured their cooing for a few minutes until finally, Lindsay took pity on me and mentioned my art.

"I haven't seen it yet, no," Mom said. She turned to me. "Where's your stuff, honey?"

I pointed her in the right direction, and then ran off before Lindsay and Melanie could start up again.

ooo

Several minutes later, I was staring at a series of photographs featuring an androgynous person going through their daily routine. The angle of the shots were interesting, but the message seemed to be nothing more than 'Look how strange people live normal lives too', until I got to the last two photographs. The person at the end of the day, unbinding their breasts and untaping their testicles.

_That_ was more interesting.

Then suddenly, an arm snaked around my torso and pulled me back against a familiar chest.

I grinned.

"Who's that guy you drew?" Brian murmured into my ear.

"Some asshole I picked up in a bar last week," I answered. I was pretty sure that he was talking about 'Cock of the Walk', not the drawing of Cal that was just to the left of it.

Brian laughed softly, nuzzling my neck a little. I turned my head, meeting his lips halfway, and we locked into a kiss. As usual, Brian immediately shoved his tongue into my mouth and pushed me back, and I let my body dip a little, held up by the arm across my back. I moaned, forcing myself up and putting up a fight, but all the blood was rushing down from my brain and into my dick and all I could think was _skin Brian now_.

He pulled away.

I abruptly remembered that we were in the middle of a formal art showing.

"Mikey thinks you took some artistic liberties with my... proportions," Brian said, resting his forehead against mine.

I grinned softly. "He's right. I wasn't drawing how big it looks. I was drawing how big it feels when you're all the way inside me."

Brian swallowed, his eyes dark. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," I whispered, angling in for another kiss and—

"Brian, get your tongue out of Justin's throat and say goodnight to your son."

Lindsay's voice cut in like a bucket of ice water, and Brian and I reluctantly separated. Lindsay smirked at us before offering Gus to Brian.

"You're leaving?" I asked her.

Brian was holding Gus the same way he had the night Gus was born—so far away from his body. I almost asked him why he was so afraid to let Gus get close to him, when I remembered that I didn't have a death wish. My thoughts then turned to Luke, who was probably asleep by now. He should have had a bath tonight, except Daphne had never bathed Luke before and I didn't want her going at it alone, so Luke was skipping a bath tonight. I'd give him one tomorrow.

"No, Mel's going to take Gus home," Lindsay answered, breaking up my train of thought. "I've got to help clean up when this is over."

"Good night, Sonny Boy," Brian said softly to Gus, staring down at him with a half-smile.

For a split second, I saw Brian with Luke, speaking to him in that same tender, loving tone, but then it was gone. I closed my eyes and forced the spurt of hope down, down, quashing it into the back recesses of my mind. That was never going to happen. I was being stupid. What the hell had made me think of that?

"Don't abuse my son too much, tonight," Brian called.

My eyes snapped open and I realized that Lindsay was walking away with Gus, laughing a little.

"So," I said, pushing a grin onto my face. I wrapped my arms around Brian's waist, pulling him close again. "Wanna take this to the bathroom?"

"I'm in the mood for something a little rougher, tonight," Brian said casually. He tried to step back, but I followed.

"Like that night at the hospital?" I asked. I was unable to hide the note of trepidation in my voice. I didn't want something rough tonight. I'd wanted it rough that night at the hospital because I was so incredibly numb, but right now I was feeling too much. I needed something gentle. But more than that I needed Brian, and I'd take him any way I could.

"Rougher than that," Brian growled, bringing our heads together.

Rougher?

"Okay," I breathed.

"Wanna fuck you so hard you'll pass out," Brian said into my ear, nibbling on it a little bit. "And then I'll fuck you awake again. You'll be screaming in pain, sobbing—"

It was so far from what I wanted tonight, it wasn't even funny. But I nodded my head, trying to breathe. If that was what Brian wanted...

Then, abruptly, he stopped talking and shoved me away. "You stupid little fuck."

My eyes widened. "What?"

Brian grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind the nearest faux-wall.

"Is that what you think I want?" he demanded, right up in my face. "Is that what you think I like? You think I'm some kind of fucking sadist?"

"I—wh—no!" I struggled for words. "No, I don't think that!"

His nose was an inch from mine. "Is that what you like? Pain? You get a hard-on thinking about me fucking you so hard there's blood dripping out of your ass?"

"No!" I cried, horrified. "I'm not a—a masochist."

"Don't lie to me," Brian growled.

"I'm not!"

He grabbed the front of my shirt. "Then why have you been following me around ever since that fuck at the hospital? Why are you so fucking _eager_ for me to do it again?"

"I'm fucking _not!_" I yelled, shoving him off of me.

It went very quiet, out in the art gallery.

"Fuck this shit," Brian said, letting me go. "Go wander on over to Meat Hook, find yourself a big leather daddy for the night."

"No, fuck _you_," I said furiously, grabbing his arm and pulling him back around to face me. "You don't get to blow me off. I was following you around before that fuck at the hospital, and I'm so fucking _eager_ all the time because you're really hot, okay? That's it. And I don't want a repeat of that night, it's the last thing I need right now, but if it's what you need then I'd... I'll..."

Brian raised an eyebrow, and I got pissed again.

"I told you that night at the hospital was a one-time thing, and if you don't believe me, then fuck you," I snapped. "Fuck you, Brian."

And then I was done.

We stared at each other for several long moments, until it occurred to me that Brian was hard. Like, obviously hard.

"You should stand up for yourself more often," Brian murmured, drawing me close. "You're fucking hot when you're angry."

"I'll keep that in mind, next time you want to accuse me of being some crazed, masochistic stalker with leather daddy fantasies," I said stiffly, giving him a pointed look.

Brian grinned. "Well, if you take out the masochistic part, I don't know how untrue—"

I smacked his chest. "Shut up. I have not been stalking you."

"You're just a Brian-Kinney-seeking-missile every time you leave the house."

"I get one night of freedom a week. Do you have any idea how horny I get, waiting for Friday night?" I asked, rubbing my nose against his with a grin. "Who else on Liberty Avenue could fuck me as well as you?"

"The number is low." Brian thought about it for a moment. "Possibly in the single digits. Possibly a number less than two."

I laughed and leaned up for a kiss.

"Take this to the bathroom?" Brian asked.

I hesitated. "I—yeah. But not rough. I don't want it to hurt."

"That," Brian said, steering me toward the hallway, "can be arranged."

ooo

"It's those analogies," Daphne moaned as soon as I'd shut the door to the house behind me. As everyone in the house was asleep (it was past eleven), we'd decided to hold our conversation until we got outside. "They're killing me dead! I hate the verbal section. I want to kill it. And mince it into little tiny pieces. And then bake it into doggie biscuits."

"Really?" I said, arching an eyebrow.

Daphne giggled. "Okay, maybe I've been thinking about it a little too much."

"Just maybe," I said, grinning.

"Anyway, how was the art show?" Daphne asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Did you sell anything? Did Brian come? Tell me!"

"My _mom_ came."

"Oh my God, seriously?"

I nodded. "Yeah. But she didn't stay for too long, so whatever. She's, like, trying to support me or something."

"That's good, right?"

"But then Brian came," I said, my voice picking up in excitement. "I mean, he spent most of the night following Michael around, but he looked at my art, we had a fight, and then we had sex in the bathrooms. And he offered me a ride home, but I had Dad's car tonight."

"You fought?" Daphne asked, scrunching up her nose. "I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."

"He's _not_. We're just fucking. Boyfriends are for breed... Um. Lame people."

"So what did you fight about?" Daphne pressed, ignoring my 'breeders' slip.

I sighed. "It was really weird. He thought that I was actually really into pain, after that night at the hospital, and that I've been waiting for him to do it again ever since. That _that's_ why I've been following him around for the last few weeks."

Daphne made a face. "Whoa. Even you're not that much of a freak!"

I punched her as she giggled again. "Shut up. Can you believe he thought that I wanted him to be my, like, dungeon master?"

"I told you that night at the hospital was a bad idea," she said smugly.

"Yeah, no kidding," I grumbled.

"So you didn't sell anything?" Daphne asked.

I brightened. "Actually, I did! I sold the drawing of Brian, and the one of Cal. They sold for a hundred dollars. A piece."

Daphne's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God! Oh my God, Justin, we need to celebrate!"

"Shh!" I hissed, glancing up at the darkened windows of the house.

Daphne's mouth clamped shut. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands quietly. "That's so exciting!" she whispered.

"I know," I said, a huge smile on my face.

"We'll think of something to do," Daphne assured me. "Anyway, now you've definitely got the money to pay for my fake ID."

I shook my head. "Nah. All the money went to charity."

"Oh." Daphne shrugged. "Well, you'll get the money from somewhere. I know you will."

"So how was Luke?" I asked.

"An absolute angel," Daphne answered, grinning. "Although he does this thing, I don't know if it's new, but he'll stand up? And then he'll just let himself fall. He thinks it's the funniest thing in the world."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. That isn't new. He took a few steps yesterday, holding on to the coffee table, but he's way more interested in falling on his butt."

"Your kid is weird," Daphne declared.

"Well, he had to get something from his mother."

Daphne laughed. "Oh, right. Now finish walking me to my car—I've still got thirty analogies to do before I go to bed."

I walked her to her car and said good night, and then headed back in the house. It was dark and smelled like the chemicalized 'Spring Breeze' air freshener bullshit Mom used whenever she went on one of her intense cleaning kicks. I sneezed twice and then went upstairs to go to bed, even though I wasn't that tired.

I'd rather be asleep than spend one more minute awake in this fucking house.


	6. Crumble

**Breakneck**

**Chapter 6: Crumble**

"I cannot believe you're doing this."

I grinned and handed over the money. "What? It'll be so cool."

"Weren't you whining that you didn't have the money to pay for my fake ID?" Daphne asked. "And now you're forking over another fifty dollars to get your nipple pierced?"

"You said we should celebrate," I said with a shrug. The cashier handed me my change, and I thanked her.

Daphne rolled her eyes and pushed the stroller away from the counter. "We look like the most dysfunctional family ever."

"What? You don't think they see a lot of strollers in here?" I asked, gesturing to the tattoo-covered walls of the parlor. It smelled like the inside of a Halloween mask, and rock music was blaring from a speaker somewhere, though thankfully not loud enough to bother Luke. "I can't imagine why not."

"You know, I don't think this is going to do a lot to convince Brian that you're not a masochist," Daphne pointed out.

"I'm not doing this for him."

"Of course," Daphne said dryly. "You're doing it for Luke. Your other boyfriend."

"I don't do boyfriends," I replied flippantly.

I was parroting Brian again. And from the look on Daphne's face, she knew it.

"Luke is my one true love," I declared, making my way around to the front of the stroller. I crouched down so I was at eye level with him. "Isn't that right, dude? You and me, two halves of a whole?"

"Two halves of the same chromosomes," Daphne corrected.

"Luke," I said in the lowest, most gravelly voice I could manage. I cupped my hand over my mouth, making slow breathing noises. "I am your father."

Daphne giggled, but Luke's face crumpled a little and tears filled his eyes.

"Aw, it's just me," I told him, grinning and running a hand over his hair. "Don't be a drama queen. Here—you want your hippo?"

Daphne provided me with the hippo a moment later, and I wiggled it around.

"See? Hippo's happy. Hippo's not a little drama queen like you are."

"Justin!" Daphne cried, laughing. "Be nice to him."

But Luke had finally cracked a smile and grabbed the hippo out of my hands, shoving one of the legs into his mouth. He drooled happily.

"Hey kid, you're next," I heard, and I turned around to see a large man with an even larger mustache standing there with the piercing gun in his hand.

"I cannot believe you're doing this," Daphne said again as she followed me, pushing the stroller. "Seriously. If you parents find out..."

"Hey, I could be getting my dick pierced, okay?" I pointed out as I hopped onto the stool.

"Off with the shirt," the guy said, and I obliged.

"You ever pierce someone's dick?" I asked.

The guy shrugged. "Yeah. One or two. Guys usually like Linda to do it, though. She handles genital piercings and tattoos."

"Tattoos?" Daphne and I said together.

Guy grinned. "Yeah. Like, just last night, some lady got the word RESPECT tattooed on her pussy."

I'm not sure which of us looked more horrified.

"So, which nipple?" the guy asked, tearing open the disinfectant wipe packet.

ooo

"That's disgusting," Molly said, eying the spoonful of squash I was trying to get Luke to eat. "Ew. No wonder he doesn't want to eat it."

"He does," I said patiently, holding the spoon in front of Luke's mouth and following it when he turned his head.

"Nuh-uh."

"Squash used to be your favorite when you were a baby, Molly," Mom interjected. "And Justin always liked the mashed green beans."

I kept my eyes focused on Luke. "C'mon Luke. Open your mouth. Aaaahhhhh..."

I made a face, which caused Luke to giggle, and I shoved the spoon in his mouth.

Luke swallowed and, finally realizing that there was food to be had, opened his mouth for more.

"There we go," I said, grinning. Another spoonful of squash. And another.

Mom quietly cut into her chicken, never cutting down to the bottom so that the knife wouldn't scrape against the plate. She usually tried not to do that because Dad absolutely hated that sound, but tonight she seemed to be extra careful about it. Dad hadn't looked up from his plate since dinner had started, and was almost finished. Molly had been chattering away, oblivious to the tension as always, but now she was taking a break to chew. I hated the thought of being up in my room again, but frankly, anywhere was better than here.

The squash finished, I quickly wolfed down my helping of asparagus before opening up an applesauce-pork-rice mixture for Luke. He'd never had pork before. I'd have to spend the next four days checking for an allergic reaction.

Luke, thinking it was more squash, eagerly opened his mouth. Upon finding out that it was not, he tried to spit it back out. I made him swallow it, and after a few difficult spoonfuls, the applesauce-pork-rice mix was also deemed acceptable, and Luke finished it off.

"I have work to do," Dad said, standing up. "I'll be in my study."

Mom quickly stood up to take his plate and cup into the kitchen.

Molly leaned over as soon as they were both gone and whispered, "What'd you do this time?"

"Tried to sell your kidneys to a drug dealer in Mexico."

"You're a freak."

I smiled. "Luke doesn't think so."

ooo

As I think I mentioned before, Luke hated bath time. He would cry at the slightest provocation, kick and splash madly, and completely ignore any of the bath toys that I tried to put in the tub with him. So needless to say, I was pretty damn efficient when it came to bathing him.

Into the bath seat, two cups of water over the head, a quick wipe-down with a cloth, another cup of water, shampoo, another cup, and we were done.

"All done!" I told him, lifting him out of the bath seat.

Luke twisted and cried as I transferred him onto the waiting towel. He still hated to be dangled, and he was already upset because of the bath.

Molly banged on the bathroom door. "Are you almost done in there?"

"Give me five minutes, Molly!"

I quickly towel-dried Luke's body, rubbed some lotion on his privates, and then got him into a new diaper and his green sleeper. By the time I had the bathroom cleaned up and I was on my way back to my room, Luke was happily babbling away, the bathtub a distant memory.

"Finally," Molly muttered, shoving past me.

I rolled my eyes and pushed open the door to my room—

Mom and Dad were both sitting on my bed.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

Luke quieted, and I realized that I'd tensed up, tightened my grip on him. I forced myself to relax, but I didn't put him down. I couldn't. The urge to run far, far away was almost overpowering, and if I ran, Luke was coming with me.

"We need to talk about this Brian of yours, Justin," Mom said carefully.

"You told him?" I demanded, while my heart plummeted. No, no, no, _no_... "You said you wouldn't tell! You promised!"

Mom remained passive. Like always. "I had to tell him. I had no choice."

I clutched Luke to my chest, ignoring his whimpers. I was irrationally afraid that Dad was going to stand up and pull him out of my arms and... and... throw him out the window or something. Dad wanted Luke gone. Mom had just given him the perfect excuse.

"You lied to me!" I said furiously. "You said—"

"I know what I said," Mom interrupted, not raising her voice. "But honey, when I—I saw you last night..."

"You said you were okay with it," I said, panic rising. She'd betrayed me. She'd been lying to me this whole time. She'd tried to support me but then she'd seen me with Brian last night and now she'd decided that there was no way that she could let her son be a faggot—

"Justin, it's not for the reason you think." Mom actually sounded a little desperate, beneath the calm. "It's not right for a man his age to be touching you. Honey, you may think you... love him. But... Oh, Justin, that's exactly what men like him want you to think!"

"Men like him?" I echoed incredulously.

"Perverts," Dad spat.

"Brian's not a pervert!"

In my arms, Luke began to cry. I shushed him hurriedly, glaring at my parents.

"He's an adult, and you're a child," Dad said, with an obvious effort to temper his anger. "It's not only wrong, it's illegal. I could have him arrested."

My mouth dropped open in horror. "You can't!"

"Justin, none of this is your fault," Mom said gently. "We don't blame you. Men like Brian, they know exactly what to say to lure you into their beds. You couldn't have known."

"I did know! He didn't _lure_ me anywhere—I chased after _him_. I _asked_ him to fuck me."

"Jesus Christ!" Dad yelled, jumping to his feet.

I took a step back, my arms tightening around Luke protectively, but Dad just stalked over to the window.

"Craig, you promised you'd stay calm," Mom said, watching him from the bed.

"I am calm," he half-snarled. After a couple of breaths, he turned around to face me, notably calmer. "What about AIDS?"

"He wore a condom," I said evenly. "I put it on him myself."

Mom put her head in her hands. "Oh, Justin..."

"I can't listen to this," Dad muttered. "I'm calling the police."

"You're not calling anybody," Mom countered, bringing her head up. "The last thing we need is for everyone to know."

"Oh, yes, that's the last thing we need!" I said hotly. "I really don't think your reputation could take another hit—your son gets a girl pregnant, your son is raising his bastard child in your house, your son is gay, your son has a twenty-nine year old male lover! You—"

"HE IS NOT YOUR LOVER," Dad roared, suddenly _there_ with his hands on my shoulders. "He's a_ child molester,_ Justin!"

"Craig, let him go," Mom said sharply, rising off the bed. "Craig!"

"I'm not a child, and he didn't molest me," I retorted, pulling myself free. Luke was fairly sobbing by now, and I was shaking with fury. "I love him. I want to be with him."

"Justin," Mom said desperately, "a boy your own age would be—"

"There will be no boys at all!" Dad cried. "I won't have it in this household!"

"What your father means," Mom said, as my mouth opened in outrage, "is that we think some time away from Brian would do you some good. Help you... see things clearer. We just want you to be safe and happy, honey. That's all we want."

"I feel safe and happy when I'm with Brian. I can't remember the last time I felt _safe_ or _happy_ in this house." I was resolute, trembling with suppressed rage. "You can't stop me from seeing him. You won't."

"The hell we can't!"

"Craig," Mom snapped. She turned to me. "Justin, we'll talk about this later. This conversation is not over."

Dad stalked out of the room and Mom followed at a more sedate pace, but neither one of them looked back. Across the hall, I saw Molly's head poking out of the bathroom, but for once she didn't have a snide remark for me. Her eyes were wide, and as soon as she realized that I had seen her, she slammed the door shut.

I shut my own door, Luke still wailing in my arms, and set about calming him down.

His face was a mess, wet with snot and tears and drool, but I let him bury it into my shirt anyway, rubbing circles into his back and speaking softly. His hair had dried from his bath, soft and downy. I moved my hand up from his back to the back of his head, stroking his hair.

After a few minutes he'd finally quieted down to a few snuffles, and I reached for a wipe for his face. I'd have to change my shirt, no doubt.

As I wiped his face, he was already drifting off. Luke had cried himself to sleep.

I set him in his crib and then fell down on my own bed, burying my face in my pillow. I fought back the initial wave of sorrow, willed myself not to cry, and successfully pushed it all back. I would not cry. I wasn't some stupid little faggot who cried because his daddy didn't love him anymore—I was stronger than that. I was. Because beyond the sadness and the despair, there was a steel core of determination, and it was white hot with fury.

ooo

The idea of leaving Luke alone in the house with my mother, when my father could come home at any point, made me simultaneously terrified and furious, so I took care of that first. Luckily, gym was second period.

"Hey, Taylor, aren't you gonna take a shower?" Chris Hobbes called.

I glanced up, turning just so that he would see my chest. "I have to finish a paper for Nessler. You know what a bitch she is."

"Don't you wanna check out all the other guys' dicks?" he taunted. "I know how much you like that."

And then his eyes went down.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Nipple ring," I said casually, standing up and walking away.

Chris grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. "Where'd you get it?"

"Piercing parlor on Liberty Avenue," I said, lying.

"Shit!" Chris let me go with a shove. "You really are queer!"

"What's a nipple ring got to do with being queer?" I asked.

Chris smirked. "'Cause your fudge-packing friends like to pull on it while they're buttfucking you. That why you got it?"

"How do you know so much about what faggots do, unless you are one yourself?" I shot back.

That did it.

The next thing I knew, Chris was shoving me against the locker, but I was ready and my fist swung, punching him in the jaw. Seconds later there was an explosion of pain in my face, and then my head slammed back into the lockers, creating a second explosion of pain.

Reeling, I ducked down out of his grasp and tried to punch him in the stomach, but I was pulled back. He was pulled back. People were shouting, jeering, but all I could hear was the dull roar in my ears. I'd instigated this fight to get out of school, but it was real fury I was feeling now. I wanted to bash his stupid, homophobic face in.

"Come on!" Chris was screaming, held back by arms attached to bodies I wasn't seeing. "Motherfucking bitch!"

"You'd like me to be your bitch, wouldn't you?" I yelled back, an odd wetness in my mouth. "You'd like to shove your dick up my ass, let me suck your cock—"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Chris raged, straining against the arms hold him back. "You fucker! I'll kill you!"

I spat, and blood went flying across the locker room.

Chris roared and almost sprang loose—a guy went flying off of him and across the locker room—when a massive body intercepted him and blew his whistle.

Mr. Rube, our bodybuilder of a gym teacher, held Chris in place easily. He glanced at me. "You. Get in my office before you get killed."

I was released from the arms around me. I didn't dare disobey a direct order from Mr. Rube, especially not right now, and I walked out of the locker room silently. I was still shooting on adrenaline, my ears still roaring, but I was high on the fact that I'd done it at all. I'd picked a fight, and I'd lived to get punished.

Mission accomplished.

ooo

"Suspended for two days!" Mom cried from the front seat.

I grinned at Luke as best I could with my split lip and aching jaw. "Did you hear that? I'm gonna be home for two whole days, dude!"

"Justin, this is serious," she said, irritated. "This is going to be on your record when you apply to college!"

Her country club unflappability really had taken a dive over the last few days.

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm sorry. You're still under the impression that I'm going away to college?"

"Oh, and I can just _imagine_ what your father's going to do when he hears about this," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Fuck him," I said.

In his car seat, Luke was gnawing on the leg of his hippo again, drool running down his chin.

"Honestly, Justin!" she exclaimed. "What were you thinking? Did you think this was going to help? As if things weren't bad enough!"

Well, yes. This certainly wasn't going to make life at home any sunnier. But at least when I was at home, I would be with Luke, and that was the point. I couldn't let anything happen to him.

"I'm not sorry," I said obstinately.

Mom sighed. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

I was up in my room writing an essay on _As I Lay Dying_ when Molly appeared in the doorway with a bag of Oreos.

"Mom says—"

I lifted an urgent finger to my lips, slicing my hand through the air,

Molly rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. "Mom says I'm supposed to watch Luke, and that you're needed downstairs in the family room, please."

"You are not watching him!" I hissed.

She eyed the crib. "What's there to do, anyway? He's just sleeping. You're not even looking at him."

"That's not the point. You're nine."

"Mom said it's fine. And she says it important."

"Mom isn't Luke's mother," I said under my breath, but I pushed back my chair and stood up. I grabbed one of Molly's hands as it reached into the Oreo bag. "Molly, I'm serious here. If Luke wakes up, or if he's breathing funny, or if he starts to sniffle—_anything_ other than sleep peacefully, you come and get me. Yell for me at the top of the stairs. I don't care what you hear downstairs, or what you think you're interrupting. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Molly said, looking a little sulky that there wasn't anything more she could say. She tossed her hair. "Now let go, or I'll cry."

I let her hand go, and she plopped down on my bed happily.

It wasn't the best of situations, but I had a feeling that my parents weren't going to take no for an answer. I also knew that if we were going to solve anything, it wasn't going to be with Luke crying in my arms. So I took one last look at Luke and then ventured downstairs, where I found Mom and Dad seated on the couch and waiting for me.

I threw myself into the chair across from them. "You summoned?"

Mom took in a deep breath. "Justin, we need to have a serious discussion. A mature discussion. I feel like we all handled last night badly, and I want to try to work things out before they get even worse."

That gave me pause. "Okay," I said slowly.

'Mature discussion' could either mean that they were willing to listen to me and work with me, or it could mean that they expected me to be 'mature' about accepting and obeying their decisions.

"We can't go on like this," Mom said frankly. "These last few weeks have been hard on us all, and it's damaging our family. Something needs to change."

"Like what?" I asked, with only a hint of moodiness. "My sexuality? Luke's guardian?"

"Justin," Mom said, giving me a warning look.

Right. Mature.

"Sorry," I muttered.

Dad, for his part, was sitting silently next to Mom with a stony look on his face.

"Honey, for a seventeen-year-old boy, you've been dealing with so much—the death of your friend, your sudden fatherhood, the... the discovery of your sexuality, falling in love... It's so much. It's too much. And we haven't been doing anything to make it easier on you, have we?"

Slowly, I shook my head. I was wary. She was right, and she seemed sympathetic, but where was she going with this?

Mom smiled at me. "You deserve a few more happy years before you have to become an adult. The only things you should be worrying about now are you SATs, your college applications, and having to take the garbage out. But lately, you've been on such a fast track to growing up."

"We feel like you need to take a step back, Justin," Dad suddenly spoke up, his tone gentler than I'd heard it in ages.

"What does that mean?" I asked, frowning.

Mom and Dad glanced at each other.

"We think it would be best," Mom finally said, "if you went away to school for the rest of your senior year."

My mouth dropped. "_What?_"

Mom raised a hand. "Now hear me out, Justin. It would be a fine arts school, where you could go as an artist. Meet other people who share your passion, your talent."

"You'll still be going to an Ivy League for college, of course," Dad reassured me. "Don't worry about that. Lots of students from fine arts programs get into business programs at Yale and Dartmouth."

"I can't just leave!" I protested. "And maybe I don't want to be a business major."

Dad's eyebrow shot up, but Mom beat him to it.

"Then you don't have to be," she said calmly. "The other part of this, Justin, is that we would find a family in Pittsburgh to raise Luke, and it would be an open adoption. You could see him whenever you like, receive updates and photos and—"

"No," I said flatly.

"Honey, you can't raise Luke and go to college. This is the only compromise we could think of," Mom explained patiently. "I know that you don't want to give him up, but it's—"

"How about," I said, "I go the college part time in Pittsburgh, at PIFA? And don't allow my son to lose both of his parents."

"PIFA?" Dad repeated incredulously.

"Yes. That's the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Dad snorted. "And what do you do with a degree from there?"

"Become an artist! It's what I want to do."

"What your father is trying to say," Mom forcefully cut in, "is that being an artist is not a secure lifestyle, Justin. We want you to live comfortably, and going to a fine arts institute may not insure that. Maybe you could double major in art and something else, at a regular school?"

"It won't be the same," I said, shaking my head. "PIFA is one of the leading art institutes in the world. I'd get training there that I couldn't get at a school like Yale. I mean, art majors? Don't go to Yale."

"PIFA is also very hard to get into," Mom pointed out. "What if they don't accept you?"

I threw my hands up. "I don't know! I guess I won't go there, then. But I'm not giving Luke up for adoption, and I'm staying at St. James. Anyway, I can't abandon Daphne in our senior year."

"What do you suggest, then?" Dad asked. "You've gone wild. You're getting into fights at school, going to bars, sleeping with... _Christ_. Justin. Please, I just want my son back. That's all I want."

"I _am_ your son," I said stubbornly. "I'm your queer son who has a kid. That's me. That's who I am, Dad. I'm sorry that who I am ruins your reputation at the country club."

"Justin, it isn't about our reputation with our friends," Mom insisted, leaning forward. "It's about you. We're concerned about _you_."

"Understand something, Justin," Dad said seriously, looking me in the eye. "When you hurt, I hurt. When you make bad decisions, your mother and I, we hurt because those bad decisions are going to hurt you someday. Raising a child is only hurting you. It's denying you your youth, your college experience... So much more than you realize."

Mom nodded in agreement.

"And this homosexuality business?" Dad suddenly added. "It's hurting you, too. I know that things have been difficult for you since we found out about Luke, and I know that I was hard on you. But I didn't realize that I'd driven you so far as to do _that_ as a cry for attention. And I'm sorry for that, Justin. But this whole mess with Kinney and you being 'gay' is only going to end in disaster. And I don't want that for you."

Ringing silence.

"Is that what you think?" I asked, struggling to speak.

"Craig, I don't—"

"Jennifer, we're getting somewhere," Dad interrupted, focusing on me. "Justin, it's okay. You have my attention now, it's okay. You can stop."

"I have your attention?" I repeated. My voice trembled.

Dad nodded.

"Good, then listen to what I'm about to say," I said, standing up.

Mom's eyes widened.

"Fuck. You." My voice shook with rage. "_Fuck_ you. I'm gay, Dad. I'm not acting out. I'm not going through a phase. Sending me off to boarding school isn't going to make me go straight. If anything, I'll be getting fucked even more, because at a fine arts boarding school, there are gonna be more fags per square meter than there are on a Friday night at Babylon. And I _like_ getting fucked, Dad. I love it. I love the feeling of a giant cock up my ass, ramming into me, push—"

"_Stop!_" Dad bellowed, leaping off the couch and clutching his head in his hands. "Jesus! I don't want to fucking hear that, Justin!"

"Craig, sit down and stop yelling," Mom said sternly. "Justin, sit down and stop acting like a spoiled child. We're having a mature discussion."

"No, we're not," Dad said furiously, rounding on me. "Not until he decides to stop being an obnoxious _shit_ and lets us help him!"

"I don't need help!" I yelled back, my hands clenched into fists.

"Justin, you're a victim. You need counseling, you need therapy—whatever it takes, I'll pay for it!"

"Why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that I'm queer?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Because you're_ not!_ There is no queerness in this family, I won't have it!"

"You know, most homophobic tendencies stem from repressed homosexual urges," I said with a nasty grin. "Something you wanna tell us, Dad?"

He smacked me.

"Craig!" Mom screamed, rocketing off the sofa, but I held out a hand to stop her.

"I'm fine," I said, my eyes never leaving Dad's. "It didn't hurt."

My face throbbed from the assault to my previous bruising, but I barely felt it. I felt like I was back in the locker room with Chris—I was high on adrenaline, a roaring in my ears, a fury like none other pounding in my veins.

Dad looked shell-shocked.

"I guess I'm no longer part of this family, then," I told him, with faux calm. "I'll take my queerness and leave, and I won't let the door hit me on the way out."

And then I turned on my heel and marched out of the room.

ooo

Mom apologized. She begged and pleaded and followed me around, insisting that she didn't agree with Dad, that she understood that I was gay and didn't want to change me and that Dad would come around soon... But I ignored her and went about my night without speaking to either one of my parents. Finally, around eight, she gave up and dragged Dad into the bedroom where they began a heated but quiet discussion.

I knew that nothing would come of it.


End file.
